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They had recognised her talent, sought her out, and taken her from the lowest place in the world to the highest, where she belonged. A predator, an instrument of evolution, one of that elite to whom no moral law applied. Inside her, this knowledge bloomed like a great dark rose, filling every cavity of her being.
is it Psyche that’s sexually manipulating him, by pretending to be passive and feminine?
Over the course of her twenty-six-year lifespan she has acquired a vast repertoire of such expressions. Tenderness, sympathy, distress, guilt, shock, sadness… Villanelle has never actually experienced any such emotions, but she can simulate them all.
somehow, some spark lingers on. And then, inevitably, dims.
What would I give to look like that? she wonders. My brain?
She’s beautiful, in the way that a bird of prey is beautiful, but never has Eve encountered a gaze of such inhuman blankness.
