Cerulean Cape we have always known how to be monsters

There was a silence that she did not mind — for in silence, there was peace — but the man deigned to fill it with his introduction. The leviathan had a name and that name was “axolotl” she whispered underneath her exhale, tasting the exotic digraphs upon her rosehip tongue. It was dynamic and reminded her of her own calling; and in this, Kitsch took some sort of solace. The vice grip of her ears against the base of her skull loosened and fell away and ever so slowly moved to perch upon the top.

“I’m Kitsch”

He made a reference to the cape around them — the two were nestled between the promontory and the sea, and both threatened to engulf them; the man found power, but she was made to feel small by it, by him. The kitten distractedly kneaded her paws into the sand, working to pat down two small indents upon the beach. Kitsch wished West was there; but at the same time, was glad West wasn’t. “Yes,” she avouched, the aquamarine of her eyes made brighter by the reflective nearness of the tide. Axolotl seemed kind enough to make conversation with her [the strange man hadn’t] so she would reciprocate. “You… live here?”