She lived, content if not happy, dwelling in her corner of the universe. She loved, quietly and fiercely, keeping it to herself.
She died, silently.
She got back up, noticeably.
belladonna, bonny shears She ran from home to hide underground, in more ways than one. She stole secrets, big and small, some to hoard and some to sell, and cultivated acquaintances as a horticulturist tends their plants; carefully, with distanced affection and keen calculation. And, as these things go, she made a mistake.
o the beloved She trimmed her hair, her nails, her fangs. She packed her bag full of everything she had left of what she loved. She ate her shadow, and then she left.