Deepwood Weald Fell for these Ocean Eyes

the woman spits venom, sharp and cutting. the girl can only look on, and while she does not shift, does not cry, something heavy and unexplainable lodges in her throat. wide-eyed, pestilence is silent until the woman finishes her critique, turns tail and vanishes. 

something flairs then, laced with hate. she wants the woman dead. she wants her watch her kneel over, grow cold like the prey in the nightwalker's caches. she wishes it true, remaining stiff and still before she manages to swallow the lump in her throat and continues on. she will learn, and fairly soon, that the death of another requires much more work than simply wishing it.