WingedKazzia

Cloth.        Breathe.          Breathe. R o u g h.  It scratches.    Pull it off. Against my skin, pull it off. Slide over...  Arms.   Shoulders.     Like sweet oil.             Skull and mane.         Breathe.          Breathe. Touch my eyelids.     C l o s e   t h e m. Kiss.             Touch of cloud-drops.                             Sinfully gentle.     Protect me

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Five fingers drummed against the glassy surface of the table, beating out a simple rhythm. The fingers themselves were sturdy, but long, and dry. Aside from a silver band with intricate vines etched into it, there was nothing to decorate the papery hands. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Matthew looked up from the paper he was scrawling upon with a light pen. One thin, dark brown eyebrow twitched in annoyance as golden eyes, much like a cat’s, focused on the tapping fingers. For a brief six seconds, he allowed himself to feel anger. He was trying to work, and the noise shattered his thoughts, his concentrat