04-05-2020, 03:03 PM
To say that Jude remembers Ashhal would be a stretch, but the faintest of recollections does tickle at the back of her mind. This smile—the one that barely stretches her lips, the one that sits upon her mouth like most translucent of ghosts—offers any onlooker a second’s glimpse into the kind of maddening woman they’re dealing with.
And boy, one Jude sets her eyes upon something she finds so completely a piece of her, will they have something to deal with.
Jude considers Ashhal just that: a little piece of her. The memories of a more innocent time (if one can ever consider her innocent) tickle the back of her mind, just enough to send shivers of interest and pleasure down her spine. Handsome and uncouth, curse words spilling from his mouth like sweet whispers might fall readily from a lover’s mouth, Ashhal offers himself unwittingly. Jude might pity him if she wasn’t certain he knows exactly what he is walking into—a poorly disguised trap.
“Oh!” she gasps, that ghostly smile turning into the most pleasant of saccharine looks. “Darlin’, I sure give a shit.” Poor, sweet, accented Jude. She was never meant to have a strong will. She was never meant to have self control. Her desperate, tortured upbringing left her a shell of a personality—an oversexualised and confused girl finding comfort in that which will keep her from a head unprepared for the world.
But now? She found her identity, at the cost of what was left of a well-adjusted woman. Vicious and sweet, uncontrollable, perhaps even dangerous: she stands before Ashhal with a chest full of hidden pride.
“Why don’t you c’mere? I think I might recognize that furrow in your brow,” she coos, a sparkle of curiosity and mischief in her gaze.
And boy, one Jude sets her eyes upon something she finds so completely a piece of her, will they have something to deal with.
Jude considers Ashhal just that: a little piece of her. The memories of a more innocent time (if one can ever consider her innocent) tickle the back of her mind, just enough to send shivers of interest and pleasure down her spine. Handsome and uncouth, curse words spilling from his mouth like sweet whispers might fall readily from a lover’s mouth, Ashhal offers himself unwittingly. Jude might pity him if she wasn’t certain he knows exactly what he is walking into—a poorly disguised trap.
“Oh!” she gasps, that ghostly smile turning into the most pleasant of saccharine looks. “Darlin’, I sure give a shit.” Poor, sweet, accented Jude. She was never meant to have a strong will. She was never meant to have self control. Her desperate, tortured upbringing left her a shell of a personality—an oversexualised and confused girl finding comfort in that which will keep her from a head unprepared for the world.
But now? She found her identity, at the cost of what was left of a well-adjusted woman. Vicious and sweet, uncontrollable, perhaps even dangerous: she stands before Ashhal with a chest full of hidden pride.
“Why don’t you c’mere? I think I might recognize that furrow in your brow,” she coos, a sparkle of curiosity and mischief in her gaze.
@[Ashhal] >:) <3
