She pressed herself to the ground, her dark ears flattened in placating submission. Her eyes of violet simpering for his mercy. She belonged to him. He wanted her, he wanted her! She was his, no wonder her brother had no choice but to follow his love. Her aunt to kick her out to follow hers. Of course! When claimed and clinging to belonging you followed!
"Je m’appelle Iris. (My name is Iris.)" she spoke her name with a true French accent, it sounded more like Eeree to the English speaker, the s at the end a subtle lilt on the breathy tongue.
He was enthralling, a robust handsome beast above her. She belonged to him, a heat bloomed beneath her, hungry for what it meant. How could she be so lucky for someone to call her Amour?
Even so her paws itched for movement, as if trying to tell her to keep running. Danger still clung to the edges of her aching heart. How could anyone love her? He was the best she would get.
"Vhat do you wish of me, Mon Cher? (My love)" She asked imploringly, her eyes drinking in every muscle over his shoulders and chest. Run! Non, she cannot run, she won't. She can't.
Scratch him if he comes at you again! Non! She won't. She can't.
