Nocticadia

by Keri Lake

“Memento mori,” he read from the tattoo on my forearm. “You’re one of those dark bitches who fantasizes about death all the time, is that it?” That wasn’t it, at all. In fact, the tattoo was a reminder of humility,

The lingering scent of rose perfume clung to my shirt, the nauseating stench of a quick, incurious fuck. It was sickening, the way the mind could eventually grow numb to the parasitic needs of the flesh.

This is disgustingly and beautifully poetic at the same time, and gives a good idea into the personality of this character. I really like it

A tickle at my ankle drew my attention to the floor, where a black ball of fur circled my legs like he had any right to be there. A Bombay cat I’d inherited after he’d somehow gotten into my lab, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, get rid of the damned thing. He kept the mice and rats away, though, so I’d decided to let the nosy little bastard stick around.

Awww! He’s been chosen by a black cat! That says a lot