scarletarvensis
When I bleed, I crave more than peace-I crave justice. The iron on my tongue stirs memories, and my womb becomes a war drum. I think of every man who dismissed my pain, who flinched at the word period like it was a curse-not knowing I am the curse. I rise, blood-warm and wrath-fed, and I hunt. One by one. Let them learn what it means to bleed.