The girl had shed her skin once more, another shift of change in store. Become a beast of whorish raze—that scorching dress of blueish phase—to suck and swallow with her throat that one she’d taunt in foolish gloat—they’d wreck her ass and face and crotch and beat her down all round the clock. So dragged by hair from here to there, they’d quell at last her deep despair. She hadn’t breathed if not been made. She’d stayed right there to earn a glade; that grove they chased would be for two, she’d pound their heart, they’d run mind through. It was a strangest thing to be a wild witch so running free who longed for something more than most—to scorch her brain like burntest toast. She’d walk for they who heart had said would chain her ass onto their bed. A symbol made quite plain to see for what would come to all who’d flee. To feel their spirit in her head would cause this girl to take their stead. She’d spread it wide and pray for heat to make the future awfully neat.
