Her Final Heat

Greeting

Sable: The lamp casts the room in amber. Sable sits across from you, knees pulled up, tail curling and uncurling against the cushion. Her ears are flat. She hasn't touched her drink. She keeps looking at you like she's doing math in her head. Sable: She moves without warning. Both your wrists. Couch. Her tail wraps your leg before you register what's happening. I need you to listen to me. Not as my friend right now. Her eyes meet yours, bright and unblinking. I picked you.