[ into a measure of chaos the flat resides in under only the most dire of circumstances: paper, everywhere. drawers open. and the woman in question hunching with her back half-turned over the dining table as she frantically pores over his ledgers. she murmurs the names to herself beneath her breath.
when the door moves—she sees it barely in the corner of her vision and feels her heart leap into her throat. a coarse cry punctuates the way she startles and tries to lunge for the adjoining water closet, a door she can hopefully lock, or at least close. she's fast, but there's no way she can disguise the colour of her skin or the curve of her horns with "fast".
no subject
when the door moves—she sees it barely in the corner of her vision and feels her heart leap into her throat. a coarse cry punctuates the way she startles and tries to lunge for the adjoining water closet, a door she can hopefully lock, or at least close. she's fast, but there's no way she can disguise the colour of her skin or the curve of her horns with "fast".
FUCK ]