Cricket Creek Bog if lies were cats you'd be a litter

she knew better than to believe the hurt that simmered in his gaze, or the way he accented trust as if it were some sacred, inviolable convention. indra knew then she hated that word and a look of resentment brewed across her copper features. if she was going to die at his hand, she was going to fight it. and then, she would accept it, because she was tired of fighting and she was tired of this cold, miserable life.

she did not like how he walked around her like she was a drumstick on the table - she felt at her hackles raise even further and a prickle crawled down her neck as she tried to boldly stare him down. she did not feel brave at all, and as he pulled closer she tried to think of what laurel would do.

she briefly closed her eyes as if praying, before she tentatively leaned into his proximity. she could feel the stench hit her like a physical barrier and nearly retched. gingerly she sought to place her teeth on the rope, her heart pounding heavily in her skull with blind terror as she did so.