Lion Head Mesa Hate [m]e baby, maybe I'm a piece of art

Why not both? Her voice was soft, brimming with some kind of want she couldn't quite place. Her eyes were bright and playful. Maybe I want all eyes on me. Men, women, gods. Pharaoh. Her throat burned.

Melody reached out as if to touch him but hesitated, and at the last moment pulled away. His eyes were the wrong shade of blue. It was too quiet here. She still didn't know what she wanted, or if she wanted anything at all.