Colored like crimson, and covered in metal she stepped from her curtains, impish and small but as threatening as a blade. This slip of a girl was a knave, an X placed firmly over her heart. Her symbol, her curse.
She had killed a man, she was sure. Cut his neck with a silver razor as he slept, though she hadn’t know him but he had known her. The dying light of his eyes told her so, when he blinked in solemn recognition. He had been called Okaro, a tall felidae man who had been dressed in worn paint with a sharp mane of brown. She remembered being numb, numb and cold as she wrung her hair of blood, wiping her face with her arms and tasting metal from that day on.
He had been an elder, a pedler. A waste of living space. A waste of a good time.
Gone was he, but she still remained. Stalking the empty fields and low hung willow trees. They would kill her on sight, she knew. Kill her and plaster her skin to a rock and toss it in the bog. Use her meat to attract vultures they themselves would feast upon. Feast upon her like she had feasted upon them and their brethren. Licking her lips as she walked on.
Slipping her body through the bramble and thorns, the girl weaved her way back through the well worn path. She was headed home.
On her way home.
Her fit hit hard on the earth, thump thump thump, hit hard until she reached her entrance, unguarded and hollow. But the moment she stepped through, she was was welcomed. Welcomed with a knife to the side, steel claws to her groin, headed for her legs. It sliced her labia in two, hit her pelvis bone as caused her to bleed, far fur tainted with more red.
Her words came steady and sharp, mocking with a twinge of playfulness.
“You wear me everyday but never put me on.”
She recognized her attacker, a male by the name of Wolvaclian. They had received sex twice before and a child had spring between them. And despite his shouts of anger, violence and eyes bleeding grey as he brayed like a donkey in her ears.
“I will change colors if you leave me out for two long.”
Another stab, this one to her clavicle. A killing blow, one that would cause her death.
“You’ll take me soon enough. What am I?”
Wolvaclian answered as he twisted her neck, cracking it it two and severing a delicate spine as spittle flew from his dark lips. Dark lips like crimson as he shoved his wive's body down.
“You’re a knave.”
----

Just a short warm up. Graduated finally, now I have some time this summer.