Within the recesses of her mind, vivid images of you brimmed. Yet, none were the strands you twirled, locking them into rings around your digits. Nor were they of your clefted lips, showcasing beaming teeth, though they were the cause of her partial blindness.

Visions jailed solely on your throbbing Adam's apple, gulping the extracted juice of noxious mushroom. So, so, blissfully unaware of the peril it'll lead to.

Ravenous kisses from unfamiliar lips. Scattered pairs of hands groping, scarring your shirt's elasticity.

What laid the cherry on top of her boiling blood, though, was the glinting blade, poised to slit your windpipe for the moon to witness.

Was this the culmination? When affection sufficed, when they've taken their fill, involuntary sacrifice to the wilderness is your fated end?

No, no, no— not when she hadn't gotten the opportune to have a taste, have a feel.

"Where are you going?" served to quench her thirst for your whereabouts. Need not to play tug-of-war when your legs willingly dragged itself to her grasp.

Last night's ordeal must have drained you to laze about, evident when her coaxing, "Stay in bed," simply encouraged your body to plummet, position your head against the curve of her neck.

After spans of time conjoined like two peas in a pod, such proximity was unprecedented. Now was a first.

Was it to eradicate the feeling of the unsteady mat? To seek solace in her embrace? It didn't matter.

Narrow distance beckoned the entanglement of limbs. A touch that transcends platonic boundaries, reclaiming every expanse of your skin to rid the tainted muck they left.

Forget staying as friends—the time to cross that line had arrived.

Delicate digits tucked your strands behind your helix, a first step. "You need rest, considering what they've done to you," escorted by tender touches tracing your neck, the second. "No need for you to hunt today."

"We've got enough rations," and the grip later cupped your hips, the third. "Just stay, alright?"

"You're safer here." Only here.