Hope, help and homo for all

• not writing
• writing
• people reading their stories
• people not reading their stories

• Editing
• Not editing

• Having too many ideas
• Having no ideas

"They say stolen fruit tastes the sweetest. I suppose I can judge for myself now if that's true."

As Kara watches, the witch takes a bite of the fruit. When the other woman's teeth sink into the skin of the peach, Kara gets the strangest sensation within her.

It’s almost as if she herself had taken the same bite.

Kara feels the slightest resistance of the skin under her teeth, then the soft give into the pulp, the fruit’s juices filling her dry mouth, the sweet slightly acidic tang of it biting on her tongue. She feels the slow trail of moisture slide from her palm to her own wrist, even as she watches the droplet of it trail down the witch's wrist. It feels so real, Kara has to resist the instinctive urge to lick the sweet little trail up her fingers. She bites on her own tongue to stop herself.

Across from her, the witch smiles, as if she knows what Kara was thinking. Kara swallows thickly, and the imagined ripe sweetness vanishes down her throat.

The witch nods and moves further into the cottage. "Your payment is acceptable. You may come in."