@vorcotec ( cont. )
"I AM sorry," she coos, sincere despite the smile in her voice, "that you don't understand my customs. And that your poor comprehension of our blood-bond made you take offence. It isn't your fault. You're a stranger, without a clan. Without knowledge. No roots." Gently, slowly, Sonne reaches out her hand, her open palm an invitation gloved in soft leather. Her spirit-eyes rest smugly on the mark that shows her ownership of Jane's fragile, yet succulent neck. She remembers the pallid, almost snow-coloured breasts, their tips like the first blushing berries of summer. Exquisite. Toothsome. She runs an appreciative tongue along the obsidian spikes in her mouth, leaning forward with a glint of fire in her mask's beaded eyes. "You are hungry. You don't know how to hunt. Poor thing. Come -- let me hold your hand and I'll feed you plentifully while you tell me your story." Her head tilts curiously to the side in contemplation of the odd, delicious woman in her new garb of furs. "Tell me why you are so strange."











