Wapun Meadow bébé ils ne veulent pas de toi

a woman, a fine-cut backsplash of dark marble with snowy accents. aesthetic in the way a suit might be in a courtroom. and merrick, judge. he unsheathed his own teeth a moment, but did not follow the shadow that had dispelled before him.
"can't you fucking smell?" merrick demanded, but his ragged tone did not fit the sudden eerie nature of how quickly his features shifted from anger to interest.
he said nothing more, only held himself still, prying into her expression with his own. what's your story, sweetheart?