Serpent Lake Cinnamon girl

idk whats wrong with her

"Ri-ngo." The name, tasted upon her tongue by every sound she could make, a feather dance from her mouth before her head turned to its tilt. Ringo. Ringo. Ringo. For what he was worth, she crossed him off from every face within Akashingo. Every man, every woman, whose face became a blur of absolute nothing because she desired it to. Because her brain ticked them off one by one. Little by little.

He didn't look like the Akashingo men.

When she responded, it was with the hush of a star. Recklessly, "Legend." She wanted to know what he would do with it. It was all she wanted at this point. The attention, the smothering, the spotlight, the affection of being looked at. The riveting feeling of locking with anothers eyes. It was just like her to desire.

Rolling the fur of her back onto the ground, belly upwards and her head rested. One paw after the other, she reached for his chest to touch. "I'm bored." Then, a pout, weighed down by heat exhaustion hours prior. "It's boring. So boring-- I'm bored! Indulge me," a beg, a whine! "Tell me of Ringo." He gave her time. She wanted more of it. More time. Even from a stranger. Legend would take it, even when sprawled with tiredness, pathetically, endlessly. It was all she cared about.