Our eyes click into alignment. His shadowed and cruel. Mine bright and ready. His intentions are as clear as the spring air. The misguided spring air, that swirls around our stock-still frames. I can taste the blade in my hand. The tang of steel licked by my fingertips. Anticipatory fingertips. He savors the scent of my fear, sharp and raw. Paints a smile on the corner of his mouth and lunges. Aims for my scars. But I am bright and ready. He wont find me such easy prey today.
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