Foot of The Cross

He wouldn't touch her, wouldn't give her that untimely satisfaction. his touch was isolated, meant in only the most capable of ways to be given. He would not lavish her with such an honor, especially when she had no right to such a thing. She had not proven herself, merely demonstrated her well made proportions. She were delicate, graced in elegant features, but she deserved no right for that. There was no use for beauty, it did little to reel in anything of matter. He wanted to see her tremble beneath the weight of the world, hold it up until her bones shattered in the attempt to resist. The poor girl, she must have so hungered for the chance to bend so many to her will. He would not be her adversary in such a feat. He did not work with others, others worked for him.

Her words came with complete truth, something she had to hold so true. She truly held herself high, and while he could stare at her and understand her level of confidence, his lips would conjure up a darkened smile, and he would question these motives of hers, "Why?" What makes you so special ma b?lle? The Italian canine watched her with indolent presentation. He craved her presence, but only because her need for him was complete indifference to her..