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❝ just tell me who you want dead.❞
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THERE IS A STORY WHERE THE WOMAN GOES MAD WITH ABSOLUTELY NO MORAL. Her gun is not dainty or sexual. It will be a gun. No killing with poison, no kisses of death. She will be hysterical and deadly. Beautiful in her rage. She will be bloody. No time to be caked in makeup. She can be caked in makeup, but that isn't the main focus. She is not looking for redemption through the male gaze. She is not trying to reclaim anything. She will simply treat the world as senseless as it has treated her.
There will be spittle collecting at the corners of her mouth. It's not considered ugly when men do it; grunt and growl and bite throats out with the ease of spreading butter. The female killer is unconcerned with a gorgeous performance. No hesitancy in her cruelness. Her arms will tremor and strain when she repeatedly swings her fist into a victim's skull.
Luring by lust is forbidden. Charm may be used, but legs will not be the bait. The male audience will not get the luxury of bedroom eyes. They will look at her as a woman and acknowledge her power, her anger, her rage. She will not arouse men as a female assassin who wears no panties. Men will instead be shaken, worried that any street corner could be a graveyard. Men do not fear the black widow or the killer nurse because those roles are without warning, like a sniper.
She will have brain matter congealed into her skin. She will be up close and personal and vicious. She will botch what is considered feminine on purpose. Not in a I'm not like other girls way, but in a way that says girl is too broad of a term to describe me and feminine is too synonymous as soft. Out of everyone she has ever known who might identify with womanhood, what tied them together is not lipstick or nail polish, but an anger so righteous that it would put all gods to shame.
The mad woman was trapped in a boundary spell. She sat in the middle of the circle with a white sheet wrapped snugly around her naked body. She had spent the last six months roaming the bayou as a werewolf. She had cut ties with the wolves who called themselves her friends. She had refused to see anyone who wasn't Freya or Hope. She had kept it that way until Jeremy visited two months back to inform her that Elena was in a magically induced coma and would only wake up when Bonnie died. And because she was trapped as a werewolf for all these months, she had missed the only chance to say goodbye.
Klaus and Elijah had both tried to stop by in an attempt to find her. They failed and opted to speak out in hopes of her listening to what they had to say. They were both very apologetic and promised that they were doing everything they could to find a witch that could undo the spell. Freya had tried multiple times to break the spell and failed. She was just grateful someone had tried. Everyone else had been all talk, but not Freya. Perhaps Freya would use a locator spell to find out where she had wound up tonight. But for some reason, she didn't think it would be that easy.
