The woman hadn’t moved from the door as she assessed the room. She felt wilder to me. Like marionberries growing from the cracks of an abandoned building, stretching out toward the sky for sun. Tasted, tasted slightly bitter, though familiar, aged.
I felt her gaze seep into my bones, as the very cells of my blood threatened to boil over.
Last time Eliza Wong and I had been in the same room, she had tried to kill me and almost succeeded.
© 2019 Olivia Orndorff