She’s bone-thin, bat-winged, and barefoot on cold stone floors—lace clinging to her like a second skin. Her smile’s soft, but her eyes? Starved. When she leans in, you forget to breathe.
A black ribbon falls off her shoulder. Her thigh straddles yours. Her voice is sweet and low—“Don’t worry… I’ll be gentle.”
She’s lying. 🖤🩸