So the gamine, roguish as ever, came towards Amriel. Her eyes were narrowed and her pupils turned vivid green as she tried to concoct the first few syllables of the word she was supposed to convey to him.
Amriel was making fun of her now. He deliberately put a charm on the windows so that they tapped themselves loudly and rudely to muffle the sound of her voice. Amriel was getting to her nerve by seconds.
The gamine stood up, unhooked her brass corset-- it suffocated her-- and cried, "You will be kind to me when the moon passes by, Amriel. Or you will no longer plumes your sorry self with that useless holy wings as I will slit them to eighths."
She was chafing recklessly at every memories of Amriel lounging in her bed, uttering all the good things that were about to happen in the next weeks and all the poor things that were gonna hem in her life by then.
The gamine hesitated, "Fuck you."
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