Silver Creek you'll make a fine rug, cat

And then she sees it. Beyond the gleam of violence. That's all there is. There is no blood, no warmth. Nothing to suggest at all arousal or lust or—whatever had she seen before? He just stares coldly, no reaction to anything she says. And when the words fall out of his mouth, she should be more shocked.

They do shake her deeply, but only because they are everything she has never wanted to hear. But they are not shocking coming from him, specifically. He does know how to twist the knife, though.

Addison watches him leave, her frosty gaze fixed on him. There is a cold fury simmering underneath, an anger she's never released. Never been allowed to release. Women are gentle, docile; they do not stamp and swear and snarl. They keep everything down, unsurfaced. Out of sight, out of mind.

Brainless, spineless cunts.

The Odolf witch stands. A muscle jumps in the left corner of her mouth, a growl vibrating soundlessly at the base of her throat. Like a bomb ready to burst—

Then she turns and walks away, legs stiff. Leaving behind the first and only time she has dared to ask for what she wants.

But not the last time.