Sunset Valley my lord my light

her lips curled into a sharp grin—teeth glinting like daggers beneath the snowlight. there was no fear in her eyes, only the dark spark of amusement.
я не мышь, she purred, voice low, dangerous—like the rolling growl of a storm on the horizon. я кошка.
not a boast. a truth.
she let the words settle between them, heavy with meaning, before she added—smooth, despite the fray: késhka.
her name, spoken like a brand—meant to be remembered.
as for his question, her grin stretched wider, though it held no warmth.
i killed them all.