whoo tables I haven't used in forever, HO
Medusa stared at him with her eye glinting in the darkness. She was wary. He was a monster out to kill her and she knew it. If she had children -- thank the Kraljica she didn't -- he would kill her in front of them and then eat their flesh. Or worse, as one monster did back home, to her mother's sister, keep her fat with child and eat the babies he forced on her.
The reasons the Serb didn't trust men were myriad and complex. Her father had made a pair of daggers for her, deliciously sharp and made of fine glass he had tempered somehow -- a secret he told her she'd learn for herself in time -- and were hard to break. She wished she had them, her fingers twitched as she imagined having them with her. She silently promised to herself that she'd create a new pair of daggers and mix Armani's caustic venom into one to kill silently and Eszter's in the other to torture.
She tilted her head as the man, Izzle, or whatever, repeated his questions. She didn't like his tone. He spoke as though she was stupid. He spoke as though she was a child, one who had no inkling of his language, the pathetic English they spoke here, so inferior to her native Serbian. For want of kill me I tell. I know you how think. She was not stupid. She knew exactly what he was thinking, had seen it in his eyes, had seen it in the eyes of many before him.
She looked up with a sneer wrinkling the fine flesh of her muzzle, twisting her scars to a more grotesque expression of sheer hatred and violent urges. She not of concern to you. She know nothing. Medusa smiled insanely, her eye gone vacant as she spoke for both the people inside her head. He up here, she whispered, crawling forward slightly and tapping the side of her head, He know you not hurt us. We know you not hurt pack. Her voice got deeper and guttural as the other being spoke for her in clear English. I have no such concern, pathetic creature.
Medusa blinked and shook her head wildly, further tangling her hair, and leaned back with a shiver.
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