She Had Razors For Wings

Sylvia always filed her nails to a point, she believed in leaving evidence of where she had been. On those she had been with.

She grew up quiet, with a deep longing that had been unfulfilled, until she could take the loneliness no more. She fancied herself a caterpillar, cute and fuzzy, when she emerged from Her chrysalis, she had razors for wings and her instinct for the hunt, honed.

She would saunter, or giggle. She would stalk and corner. Her methods were always contingent on her mark. The half-in-the-bag Business man, the hipster barista in the man bun, even her trainer at the gym, Melissa.

Sometimes the act was real, sometimes sport, once in a great while, unrelenting physical and emotional need, like blood or breath.

Sylvia knew what she wanted and her gift was knowing exactly who or what others desired. She took pride in that gift, touching those who, in her eyes, needed the touch…and the marks.

Sylvia feeds off the pleasure of others, it is obsession.

Perhaps, one day, when your soul needs her touch…she will leave evidence upon your skin.

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