Blackfeather Woods тнe elecтronιcѕ oғ yoυr нearт

She goes for his face. It is the desperate move of an animal cornered by hate and fear, logic impaired and suppressed by emotion. There is a weakness there already, the gash that splits his handsome face garishly, makes him look the part of a monster. Fangs snap together, in the heated rush she is unsure if it is injured or uninjured flash she grabs, or if she has anything in her jaws at all. There is something inherently wrong about bearing this situation without a fight, and this she seeks to correct. She has already been in the dark woods too long, and its hold is not one she can shake easily; but as for now, of this she is blissfully unaware.