But what the unknown assailant perhaps did not know or did not expect about Minuet was that she would not go down easily. As soon as she felt the press of something floral upon her lips, she forces the air in her lungs to a hold and hacks with all of her might to spit it out. If she were lucky, her teeth, too, would gnash and bite for whatever part she could reach.
Fuck you, she seethes, although it is coarse and dry in her throat. The tears that mark her face gleam in the dimlight. what do you want?

Fear corded her veins, every fiber of her trembling little body as her weakened paws instinctively draw near her face and her ears fall into a downward splay. You're fucking insane! What, do you-- do you want me to like, I don't know, do you want me to have sex with you? Is that it? had he never heard of asking? Perhaps being chivalrous and actually appealing?
Never do her eyes leave him, always watching, always; the — poison — continuously hacked from deep in her throat until the dull knife of irritation forces her to stop. How was this happening? Where was she? Oh, god, if she'd only gone with—
But could Melody have even protected her from this, whatever this was?
Get it over with, alright? Whatever you want, just-- just kill me, fuck me, do it, I don't care. I don't. I want to go home. But she had no home, not anymore, did she?

Blackwater. What kind of insanity was this? What kind of name was that? Nothing good ever happens on islands!
Had she seriously gone from one fucking cult into the black and wretched hands of another?
Against her better judgment, her first reaction is a laugh. A laugh, one high in her throat and threaded with nerves. Seriously? her lips split into a smile jagged and withered, sunken eyes blown into wide spheres. Okay, alright, I get it, you're just crazy. You're psychotic, that's what this is? Right? panic, panic; it thrums through her as her tail weaves between her legs in an instinctive measure to protect her loins, her soft underbelly; as if that would do her any good.
She wanted to ask what this was for, what he truly wanted with her if not to have his way with her carnally. As if whatever answer he gave her would be normal, or even make some sort of sense, or even be the truth. And she sought to kill him her fucking self for this, the stew of hatred now boiling hot beneath her veins into something obsidian and gnarled.
But she didn't want to die. Not by him. She deserved a death with dignity.
If I do what you want, her lips curl now into the whisper of a snarl before her tongue lashes out to smooth them back down. will you let me live?