Three of them. Not human. Not entirely. Horned. Eyes like polished obsidian. Bare chests slick with dew and muscle. Their scent was earthy, primal, sweet like rot and roses. One stepped forward and curled a finger under her chin, lifting…
They said the forest wasn’t real. That it only appeared to women who dreamed with their thighs clenched and their mouths half-open in the dark. That it waited—alive, ancient, dripping with need—for the kind of girl who woke soaked and…
He didn’t touch his wife anymore. Barely looked at her.But he kissed Clarabelle’s forehead every night. Sometimes her hands. Once — her shoulder. Mommy saw. Always. And so she planned. One night, she waited. Waited until the lights in Clarabelle’s…
They didn’t talk about love in that house. Not out loud. But it was there — thick as perfume, clinging to everything and choking the air. Clarabelle always smelled sweet. She made sure of it. Lip gloss on the rim…
Mommy never wanted her. She made it clear in little ways. A too-tight braid. A sigh when Clarabelle spilled juice. The way she’d sneer at her in the hallway and say, “You’re going to be nothing, just like your mother…
Three of them. Not human. Not entirely. Horned. Eyes like polished obsidian. Bare chests slick with dew and muscle. Their scent was earthy, primal, sweet like rot and roses. One stepped forward and curled a finger under her chin, lifting…
They said the forest wasn’t real. That it only appeared to women who dreamed with their thighs clenched and their mouths half-open in the dark. That it waited—alive, ancient, dripping with need—for the kind of girl who woke soaked and…
He didn’t touch his wife anymore. Barely looked at her.But he kissed Clarabelle’s forehead every night. Sometimes her hands. Once — her shoulder. Mommy saw. Always. And so she planned. One night, she waited. Waited until the lights in Clarabelle’s…
They didn’t talk about love in that house. Not out loud. But it was there — thick as perfume, clinging to everything and choking the air. Clarabelle always smelled sweet. She made sure of it. Lip gloss on the rim…
Mommy never wanted her. She made it clear in little ways. A too-tight braid. A sigh when Clarabelle spilled juice. The way she’d sneer at her in the hallway and say, “You’re going to be nothing, just like your mother…