Whitefish River some sad singers, they just play tragic

Olive locked and grit her jaws together, turning her cheek to not look upon Carina directly as the girl stalked about and circumnavigated the margins on their meeting. It was somewhat of a disturbing display, coming from that sweet little sheepdog, but Olive knew she deserved every inch of the inky girl’s ire… and more. Then came the tears — there were always tears, where Olive was concerned — and she became enrobed in the sense of pervasive dread that always came calling when her past happened to catch up with her.

She pressed herself further against the ground, trying to be small.

As much as Carina wished to harm her, did Olive wish to be harmed! She would buy her forgiveness with her flesh — for that was how one solved her problems, wasn’t it? She bartered with her corporeality, because that’s all she had: flesh to sacrifice to the highest bidder, whoever it the most. Hadn’t she sacrificed the beauty of face to the BlackFeather’s matriarch, and purchased Dakarai’s love with pups and endless lovemaking? It’s all she had to negotiate with, and the pain she felt was usually well-deserved; well-earned. Sometimes, it even lasted forever.

But what was most undeniable about it was how the fae wished for the hurt; felt the hellcat’s nose press against the nape of her neck and tasting her ear [as sinister as a serpent!] and, leaning into the dog’s unholy grimace, wished to feel teeth upon her hide. Oh, it felt good, in some crazy fucked-up way. It was similar to that night upon Moonspear, when she climbed to the highest of heights and mused upon her own mortality, the elevation’s high winds coaxing her towards the edge of that godforsaken bedrock. She hadn’t died that night [hadn’t died yet] because there was still more to lessons to learn, more pain to feel — but, in the end of things, she was just a body, and a body was impermanent. A body was nothing. Olive was nothing, yet she was everything — and whatever the sheepdog wanted her to be, Olive would be for her. 

Olive’s eyes peeled open, ever so slightly, and she waited for punishment to come [despite only ever having known the girl to pure and good]. But here was Carina, incensed. The energy of the moment, poisonous. Olive upon the ground, silent as death — or maybe moreso.