[thisislife]

But still something stirred. It crept through the house, breaking, clambering through cracks and corridors, its horns pricking through scalp and skin to taste the kick of the world – a breaking thing – until at last it came to the door, gingerly, as a mistress would when wreathed in night. In the hallway behind, a vicious raping darkness glowed. It was all lace and lash, leather and lust. It curled now lightly around the ankle, the shoulder, the inner thigh, reaching to run through the standing-thing’s hair, moving to brush against its cheek. And the trembling-thing truckled to treacle, the sweetness overpowering, rising in fistfuls of tide to crash foaming at the lips. What a breath lingered there.