small observations | c

gut her. slit her up the middle. peel skin back like the pages of a book, and crack her rib cage until she's butterflied. beneath the gristle and fat is a heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wing. beneath the blood and gore  is some semblance of a soul.

        tear her apart, and laurel's secrets sing.
        leave her bare, and she is beautiful.

but for now? — for now she is lost. her touch is only touch when her victim is herself. three thousand years of existence, and no matter how hard she tries, laurel cannot will away her inhibitions. ridiculous. the goddess of revelry has to settle for booze like a commoner, like a human. a water bottle of vodka. a coffee cup of kahlua. thumb running across the bridge of her bottom lip, a goddess contemplates her next move.

' you should be ashamed of yourself, '    she says because censure should be directed outward, not inward. because it's time to find a target for her irritation.


making someone drunk is nearly as satisfactory as being drunk herself. but first, there is attention to be demanded.    ' this place looks atrocious. '

a pause. laurel sets her drink aside, distracts her hands with loose strands of hair and the sagging bun at the top of her head. shards of criticism wound her ( blow back from her own attack ), and she scrambles to straighten up her own appearance.    ' how do you explain yourself to guests? '