Somewhere in the night’s stretch the swell of Kit’s mouth parts for the placement of a pretty pill, dilating her pupils to onyx pits, coaxing her to the thick swell of bodies collected to the dance floor’s centre. She’s between them for nearly the night’s entirety, lips trailing the flush of her throat, digits curving to the rounds of her thighs - a rabbit’s pulse thrums beneath a jaw, she’s grinning something giddy in the low light, a seraph set to sin amidst mortals. A blurred silhouette threaded in familiarity has her manoeuvring through the crowd, stumbling towards the orbit of a godling drenched in neon hue, “Saint,” digits curve to the swell of his arm as she reaches him, ascending until they’re pressed to the tilt of his neck, “hi,” her mouth is split something holy, something hungry - the heady pulse of Daddy’s coaxing her dizzy, and a passerby draws her gaze momentarily, irises moving from a swelling eye to a gash at his jaw before returning to Saint, and her syllables are unraveling before she can help herself, “I want to go downstairs with you.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Kit is limbs folded long to the lap of a man who’s name she has long forgotten, though it is well masked with the punctuation of a honeyed babe where it counts, drawled in a manner that has his pupils dilating to something lecherous, something that has him thumbing through his wallet and tucking a wad of cash in the crimson lace of her bra. “Len,” it’s hollered at a decibel audible above the musics’ thrum, though digits reach out nonetheless to capture the wrist of the nymph-like girl perched to the lap of another, “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom-“ she feigns momentary disappointment at this, the swell of a bottom lip jutting outwards as her gaze sweeps to her male companion, slipping from his lap with the promise of a swift return (a well practiced lie, saccharine on her tongue). She turns to her raven-haired counterpart as the bathroom door swings closed, lifting a baggy between them, “he didn’t even notice I took it - he was too busy telling me how much I remind him of his daughter,” she feigns a gag for dramatics as she towards the counter, dumping the alabaster powder to the surface, “yours was kinda hot, though,” her mouth tilts upwards, waiting for her friend to retrieve a card.
— and these are the snapshots of kit sloane: a sucker cut to a heart knocking against teeth, petals lingering on depart, the hem of a past lover’s tee grazing the swell of thighs, befriending that which goes bump in the night, wildflowers overcoming a lawn, nocturn a leftover kiss of violet beneath bottom lashes
𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬.
name: kit sloane
age: 22
birthdate: october 10th, 2002
occupation: florist at flourish, bartender at daddy’s
neighbourhood: downtown
time in ithaca: her entire life
𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬.
tattoos: stars on her fingers
scars: one on the bend of a knee as a result of falling from a tree climbed in childhood, another on an ankle from a neighbour’s demon dog
spotify most played: 8 hour white noise
style: worn high-waisted denim, a worn band tee she knows too much about, lacy bralettes visible beneath tops either sheer or buttons undone, a sundress hitched an inch too short
vehicle: none, kit had an old beater that she sold to make mortgage payments on her family home. she has a bike, but tends to walk instead
𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.
tw: death
she is raised in ithaca in an eyesore of a home; overgrown lawn, a shutter hanging on by a sole screw, enveloped in chainlink. her mother leaves in the night when she’s young, leaving kit to be raised by her father. he tries his best, nodding along as he listens intently to her otherworldly rambles. between the two of them, love and light blooms in equal parts, and kit ages blind to how little they have.
her mother’s desire to flee is inherited, though in kit it is shrugged off as a nomadic nature, as a remedy to the insatiable boredom of an only child raised by a single parent working two jobs to make ends meet. so she wanders ithaca from adolescence onward, until she explains that she must see more, and promptly following high school graduation kit leaves with the promise of a prompt return.
she wanders for two years, each destination punctuated with a postcard home to her father that always ends with an i’ll be home soon. but kit doesn’t return until she receives a voicemail from ithaca’s sheriff, who informs her of her father’s sudden passing.
recently returned, kit is left choking on the twine of grief and guilt, with how she should’ve been there. regret is heavy and prompts her unable to yet return to her childhood home, so she rents a rundown apartment downtown that is further left bare by her naive insistence that her stay there is so temporary she doesn’t need much decor, that she’ll be back to her other home soon.
she resumes a past position as a florist at flourish, and works feverishly to keeping her mind occupied, to keep it from straying to the fresh wound of her recent loss. when she isn’t there, she chases thrills in hopes of feeling alive, of feeling something other than the numbing grief that has settled to her skeletal.
