Everfrost

	The sound and sight of his adornments falling to the wet sand below is enticing, rousing from her a lustful purr, her Arabian banner, pale as moonlit snow, lifts to its highest mass, and is promptly tossed asunder to reveal the pink conch so hidden, and the ribbons of her rain-wetted tail lacquering to her sumptuously poised side-hip. Her ears, lifted, take in the masculine rumble of his words, her giggles cresting, sharpening, at the statement: we are all cursed. "Not like me," almost lucidly whispers the malevolent one, her lips curved in a soft, desirous smirk, her knife-like gaze softening into a cloudlike reverie for the most split of seconds, before it is again digging, probing, seeking blood and bone. She slips that gaze across his crown, down his face, along his muscular flanks and long, powerful legs, legs that would enfold her, a figure that would press her deep into the sand, make her small body to groan beneath the weight, tousled and moved like a cloth doll, fluttering, and small… "Do not be gentle," she warns him, purrs, reaching out to nip roughly at his chest, then to slip along his sides, continuing her small violence, perhaps too eager with some, to the degree of drawing blood, or leaving lasting welts; he is big though. He can handle it. Or he can leave. "Chill such as ours requites…" she giggles, her voice trailing off for a moment as she feigns to ponder, her haunches allowed to linger temptingly within easy range of his nares, before she turns her eyes back to him, a smile tilted over her incessant, peculiar quips of laughter, "vigor."