//That moment when you post a solo and notice a typo in the first tweet. Welp 馃槀. Still shaking the dust off.
His blood tasted like sugar water. It didn't match the gruff, tattooed exterior of the man dying at my feet. The dagger in her hand twitched, thirsty for another kill. She used a silk rag to clean the blade then slipped it back into its sheath. Cursed objects were tricky, and-
-even colder in recent years. Marie had watched the city since the mid-1800s. She knew all too well how easy it was for people to be bought and sold in a glittering promise of wealth of luxury. Even if she hated those in control of the city, she still loved NYC, and since it was-