The Cruel Sensuality of Hirsutus Puella

It was the late afternoon, and I was sitting at the base of My favorite tree, admiring the lush tapestry of interwoven wolf lichen that adorned its aristocratic exterior.

I enjoyed closing My eyes and feeling the velvet-green, fungal textile in-between My fingers–it possessed the lifeblood of the immemorial, with a simplicity of anatomy that was designed to endure epoch upon epoch.

When I opened My eyes she was reclining before Me, inviting My essentia into her ribcage, tempting Me to grasp at her heart. Our gazes interlocked, and I felt a cruel sensuality whisper into My right ear–My Otitis Externa was gone, and so were My inhibitions.