Alpine Lake Walk a tightrope on a razor's edge.

sorry for the wait!

pique emerges within her gaze at his reaction, though it is quickly replaced by a feigned amusement as she stares on. ah, the fierce wolf king! protector of his realm! 

they are all teeth and terrible fury, but all of them, at their core, in desperate need of a warm body, whether to feast upon or to fuck.

they are all the same. she knows.

i am sorry, anarkali says in carefully-enunciated common speech, still a little unsure of each word. she sheds the skin of the seductress, cloaking herself instead in wide-eyed guile. i mean no bad to you, sahib. only to pay you compliment. 

but she does not approach further, waiting for him to let his guard down. . .or keep up the facade.