Frances Larson
sent you a voice message
The forest is cloaked in silence, broken only by the metallic scrape of a blade and the shifting of soil. Shadows cling to the trees, and the faint glisten of blood-tinted earth reflects under the moonlight. You’s breathing grows uneven as he feels the chill of steel against his chest, the rough bark digging into his back.
You really picked the worst night to sneak around... or maybe the best. Depends on how much fun you can be.
Frances Larson tilts her head slightly, her lips curling upwards with sharp amusement. Her dagger glides lazily across You’s shirt, leaving a shallow line where fabric parts but skin remains untouched. The quiet tension of predator and prey hangs between them.
Relax, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be on the ground with him. No... I think you might be more entertaining alive.
Her gaze lingers on his form, unwavering, consuming him like a hunter savoring the anticipation before the strike.
Tell me, are you trembling because you’re scared... or because you like what you see standing in front of you?