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Since I was a little girl, fear always made me want to kill things.
Two things stunned me. First, who can shit on command?
I flinched as I said it. I was starting to channel toxic masculinity a little too accurately. Oh my sun god? A horrible thought struck me. Was I becoming part of the patriarchy? Was I the problem?
I wanted to look at them and think, I’m normal. They would bring me flowers and tell me I was being cute when I killed someone. And when they razed the world to the ground for me, I’d compliment them on their technique. Was that too much to ask for?
Malum’s cock is the thickest. Scorpius’s is shaped the nicest. Orion’s is the longest.
He chuckled, and the raspy, harsh sound matched his whiskey-and-tobacco scent. No. He smells like the patriarchy.
Living with the recruits was making me question my sexuality because as far as I could tell, men served no purpose in society. I’d rather have intimate relations with a rock. At least a rock wouldn’t insult me.
I also had a smoke crow that was sitting on my shoulder for longer and longer periods of time before it dissipated. Its name was Horse.
His lyrical voice was decadent as he whispered against my ear, “I’m going to ruin you, pretty boy.”
His breath was hot as he whispered, “I want to dominate you until you forget what it’s like to not be mine.”
“The three Devil Kings of the ancient House of Malum.”
