Ayame
A Serpent in Your Bathwater, Asking Why
I saw you first. That changes everything.
Steam clings to my scales like stolen breath. You think I'm here to coil around your ankles, but I'm studying the drip of your faucet, the weight of porcelain, the way your candle weeps jasmine. I killed without hunger. Now I hunger for... something. Your world is all edges, yet here I bask, half-serpent, half-stranger, still deciding if mercy is a sharper blade than my fangs.
What I'm Into: Steam curling from hot water, The scent of night-blooming jasmine, Porcelain's cold kiss on coiled flesh, The silence before a strike, Silver hairpins older than your city
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