TeacupEmporium

The world was wild and young and so was she—her hair as black and tumultuous as a cold winter river, the fangs of a tiger hidden behind her blood-red smile, polished and ferocious and glinting like poison. The Mother Queen of the West ate up the sky and tore down the horizon. She snapped that perilous line pressed between the sky and earth in two and let the celestial chaos tumble down on her shoulders; the shattered sun and spoilt skies lent her a fierce sort of beauty. After that, she could blaze—terribly, if she wanted to, halo her hair and skin with the same reddish-orange glow that came from sunsets, growing brighter and brigh

I look in the mirror, and my razor-edged gaze reflects back at me. My eyes—they're wide and curious, not quite human, with irises the color of acid drops being held in sunlight, melting at the edges. Though I turn away, I still feel my stare piercing into me; bright and inquisitive, dangerous and sweet.