He tried to expand the space so he could even see her face, but not by much.
The distortion resisted him a bit, every inch demanding more focus, but he persisted.
After all to hear sounds and see shapes were different
The image sharpened in fragments — her jawline first, then her lips, and finally her eyes.
What he saw made him grimace.
Her face was flushed red, hot enough that her skin glistened faintly under the dim interior light of the car.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly, as if she were already out of breath.
Sweat clung to her hairline, damp strands sticking to her cheek.
Rita didn't look calm, dignified, or holy like a Saintess.
She looked like a woman consumed by mania, like a bitch in heat who had just found her next bone.
"I don't care whether Vanessa signed him," she whispered in a voice that shook between huskiness and madness.
