A-me
New Member
Am I paying for sins I can't remember? Lonneke is slowly convincing herself the though that lives rent free in her head is true. Even now, as skin under neath her goat skin gloves flakes and rapidly heals . Shredding the last evidence of charred flesh , she can still smell the odd combination of melting fat and human tissue. Gross. Should be gross. cept it's oddly fascinating.
The smell inspires no such reaction.
Toronto at Christmas time is hectic. The American in her compares the mess to new york. We're you to longer in the financial distant you'd see just as much wealth . Neiman Marcus. Saks. Coach. Gucci. And only the teats lining the corners and hidden beneath the massively overdecorated trees give hint to the hidden pockets of less fortunate .
The condos raise higher and higher trying to compete with the red and tree lighted hues of the cn tower.
From her vantage point on queen west , she can still see the tippy top. Though she's further down from the downtown core to really be surrounded by wealth. Tucked in a bar that itself is tucked between a vintage shop and an Asian grocery . It's quiet and smells like spilled beer. Spices and musty fabric thanks to the shared ductwork. But the Tired Spite inspires loyalty in its sparse cliental. Here the abnormal are safe and at home. Here a girl can reflect on the fact the flames that leap from her fingers might might be the reason for her fractured memories. Being slightly enamored with burning flash does not inspire hero vibes.
The girl herself is not horrible to look at. She's lengthy , and natural . Moving with a slight awkwardness that is common in those trying their height. Her brown hair is struck through with flashes of copper , though it's dulled by the bar lights and falls in a stylish wave to just above her shoulders . And her Kelly green eyes , when not marred by bags and sleepless nights , are intelligent and vivid against her paler pallor.
She looks like any other young implanted torontonian. Though she doubts many others of her generation are sitting in a dank bar- guestioning existence and half listening to the wail of fire trucks as they race to a comic shop not far away.
The smell inspires no such reaction.
Toronto at Christmas time is hectic. The American in her compares the mess to new york. We're you to longer in the financial distant you'd see just as much wealth . Neiman Marcus. Saks. Coach. Gucci. And only the teats lining the corners and hidden beneath the massively overdecorated trees give hint to the hidden pockets of less fortunate .
The condos raise higher and higher trying to compete with the red and tree lighted hues of the cn tower.
From her vantage point on queen west , she can still see the tippy top. Though she's further down from the downtown core to really be surrounded by wealth. Tucked in a bar that itself is tucked between a vintage shop and an Asian grocery . It's quiet and smells like spilled beer. Spices and musty fabric thanks to the shared ductwork. But the Tired Spite inspires loyalty in its sparse cliental. Here the abnormal are safe and at home. Here a girl can reflect on the fact the flames that leap from her fingers might might be the reason for her fractured memories. Being slightly enamored with burning flash does not inspire hero vibes.
The girl herself is not horrible to look at. She's lengthy , and natural . Moving with a slight awkwardness that is common in those trying their height. Her brown hair is struck through with flashes of copper , though it's dulled by the bar lights and falls in a stylish wave to just above her shoulders . And her Kelly green eyes , when not marred by bags and sleepless nights , are intelligent and vivid against her paler pallor.
She looks like any other young implanted torontonian. Though she doubts many others of her generation are sitting in a dank bar- guestioning existence and half listening to the wail of fire trucks as they race to a comic shop not far away.
