Eriella

My wolf snarls through the withered doors The intoxicating aroma of discovery coursing through my veins Will my loneliness engulf me, trapping me in a maze Where I can't escape, Though I'm not supposed to belong? And will the two-headed demon chew on my soul Sprouting an extra 500 faces from her neck? I won't know until I go inside. Over-thinking every step Second-guessing each thought How will I travel past myself? My humor is not good today, nor has it ever been Though I laugh to my heart's content Smiling to the wolf with the whip in her paws She won't hurt me unless I allow her Or unless I think I should. Love is known to

 "Your machine is giving you trouble?" Evie jumped, startled at the sound of the Inventor's voice. She turned around and saw him lounging against the doorframe. As usual, he was dressed immaculately in a clean tailored suit and cravat, the only informal part of his appearance being his lack of shoes. His scraggly white hair was uncombed, and sticking up in odd places around his head. "Yes, sir. I, um, didn't expect you to come up yet." He chuckled, and adjusted his wire glasses on his long, thin nose. "I've done enough work for one day. Have you set the table for dinner?" "Peggy has, sir." "Very good. Then let us sit and eat." "Sir?

 Leather: strong, loud, cloys like warm poison in the air and forces it's rugged odor down her windpipe. She coughs and breaths in, tasting the familiar sharpness in it's heavy folds with a satisfied smile. She loves leather. Leather is tough, like her, or less like her and more like how she wishes she could be. It's armor. Black polished chainmail to hide in that always looks good. She loves it baggy, baggy enough to hang down her wrists like soggy blankets, baggy like the worn garage-sale heap in her hands. The heaviness on her skin when she pulls her scrawny arms through the cavernous sleeves is a safety net. When she's wrapped in a leathe