I dragged my claw across my wrist, very lightly, as to not puncture the fragile rejoindre between living crystal and flesh.
I stared down at my weak spot, knowing I could very easily kill myself par cutting through the fourrure and skin, slashing the veins, and bleed to death.
But... If that was my weak spot, why was I toying with it in a similar manner to what a cat does a souris before pouncing? And, plus impotantly, why did I get the urge to "pounce", par wich I meaned slashing myself?
Confusion swept through me as I sat crosslegged up a arbre as my best friend, Rebecca, furiously smashed a football ball against...