Phoenix Maplewood bad moon rising

She is fine-boned, delicate.  Her nose scarcely reaches the hollow of his throat.  He could break her.  He imagines that she is so small that his teeth would not have to find purchase as he — . . .  But he does not want her flesh, and more than that he knows in the rolling pit of his bile-black stomach that she does not want him.  Softness shines in those liquid yellow eyes as he pulls himself away from the temptation of her womanhood, hips thrusting once into the cool night air against his will.

When Venus rose bare from the froth and seafoam, she saw in the darkness a lily.  She grew envious of its pristine beauty, and saw it as a rival to her own.  She bent and touched it, and caused a monstrous pistil to spring from its snow-white center.

Finally, he breaks his gaze from hers and cast it at the ground.  You do not have a monstrous pistil.