Phoenix Maplewood bad moon rising

"I don't. . .believe you."

The answer made sense. How else would you answer a promise like that, made by a man of shadows, an ink-stained wretch with eerie eyes? What could not be explained was the coy smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, nor the tone with which she spoke--daring, teasing. Nor, still, the steps she took toward him, sinuously weaving through the darkness. She held his gaze the whole way, 'til she stood just two tail-lengths away, her own banner bristled out in fear.

"Who. . .are you?" she asked, the first word drawn out like an owl; her speech was slow, but healing, the stutter all but gone. She thought of adding several more hooos on for good measure, and grinned silently at the thought, but remained quiet, waiting for his response. It would likely be a lie, she knew. Would the truth ever come from a man like that?