Hoshor Plains lord hear me now, junkboats and english boys

she uttered some form of protest, her voice hoarse as a rough 'don't' met iliksis' ears. he leaned against her, fighting her resistance by clutching her spine tight against his chest. he could see her eyes; they were glassy and dull -- it gave him great satisfaction to witness the sheer pain he had inflicted upon her.

he could not part with her yet - she was too pretty, too soft - there was something lamb-like about her figure that sparked his insides. he would keep her alive, his play-thing -- already he thought of ways he would torment her.

his tongue retreated back into his thin jaws and he studied his toy, brushing his whiskers against the flush of her cheek. "where do you live?" he inquired, his voice soft despite its rare use. he was wrapped entirely around her now, holding her the way a spider might entangle its prey -- and with slight constriction he sought to press his arm against her throat if she did not supply a quick and expedient answer.