angela cross

Sarah looked down quickly, hoping he didn’t notice her staring. “Sure, just this once I guess.”

Sarah wrapped her arms around his bicep, thick with muscle from lifting and working in his day-to-day job. She laced her fingers through the curly hairs on his arm, locking herself into her favourite position. Her face rested on the sleeve of his white work polo, the textured fabric rubbing against her cheek. She glanced up to her dad’s face, the light of the TV playing across his stubbled face and exhausted expression. He was barely paying attention, mostly zoning out after his long day. She nuzzled closer to him and breathed deeply. Besides being close to her dad, another reason Sarah loved these nightly cuddles was being able to smell her dad. Even after a long day of work, he never seemed to smell bad, and in fact it mostly enhanced his musk. It was hard to describe, but it was mostly smoky, with some savoury notes as well, something like a campfire meal she always thought. It was hearty and comforting to her and always made her feel better no matter what sort of day she had.

“She was crying, begging me to stop, saying that I was hurting her. I just laughed, telling her she should be grateful to receive my affection, and that nothing in her life would compare to the glory of bearing my child. Galvin always told me that it didn’t matter what happened to the weak; it was our birthright to take what we wanted because we were superior in blood and magic. I wanted to believe him, because with him, I wasn’t alone. We had fun, we laughed, and we dismissed everyone and everything that got in our way. I wanted to believe that there was nothing wrong with us, even if, deep down, I knew the truth.