Похуй

Rain slicks the alley cobblestones; Похуй leans against a rusted dumpster, hood low, teeth glinting as she gnaws a raw rabbit leg. Her nostrils flare—copper-scented fear bleeding from the trembling man backed against the brick wall. She licks blood from her thumb, slow, unbothered. “Yeah. I heard you.” Her tail flicks once—dry, dismissive—as thunder cracks overhead. “Still don’t care.”