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YOU HAVEN'T AGED A DAY
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KILLED HER OLD SELF, BUT THE NEW ONE ISN'T MUCH BETTER
-I SHOULD BE DEAD by now, Marella thought as she pressed another against the wall. I should be dead by now, she repeated as her wand dug into their throat, so rough, so entirely desperate that she was sure the contact may tear flesh apart - as if it were mere paper. She wouldn't be surprised, humans were weak like that, one spell away from cascading to the floor in demise. The brunettes hands clasped their wrists tightly, blocking any forms of escape.
"Get off me - fucking bitch." Dove Arden spat, trying to squirm away. However, Marella's grasp did not falter, if anything, it became more strained.
"Darling, thats not any way to talk to me." the Bardot grinned; wand reaching Dove's chin, then her cheek, then her lips. "Say it."
In murky room, within a murky house, among a murky street stood two women, their tongues barbed with anger, their eyes piercing daggers, and mostly, capable of anything. When fate purloins every last strand of hope, you stop hunting for it and begin to feed on something new.
The invigorating feeling of revenge, payback, anger. Take your pick and run with it. Personally, Marella consumed all three. She wasn't picky on what her teeth teared apart, like blades slicing flesh, she ate what she could chew. And she finished her damn plate.
Inky hair, taupe skin, and a killer punch could describe Dove. However, behind the roughed exterior of a female who'd been wronged ( so many times not even a sorry from the Universe could suffice ) was a melting puddle of grief and angst. Biologically a man, she had faced the wrath of both racism and transphobia throughout her timeline of life.
Now she stood before Marella, looking at the scarred werewolf with both lust and hatred in her pupils. They were hit-witches, being partnered under shitty conditions (aka, 'we're terrified of you two, so work together ). Like jagged dogs from the pound, they were tossed into an alliance and paid not to rip each other to shreds. Well, mostly.
