Ink
A creature of black ichor, a creature of ooze, takes feminine shape as it draws ever closer.
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What’s that? A shimmer at first, down a rain soaked alley. The sheen of oil where the pooling rain catches the light…
—bleary eyed, blinking rapidly—
A shape grows from the oily sheen of one puddle. Is that a woman? The shape takes form, becoming clearer as it approaches.
—heart pounding, body frozen in place—
Light reflects around orbs where its breasts should be... no… where they are. My god, she sways like sex. Moving with the light, outlining every curve, sleek. She draws near. Is she naked? It’s hard to tell. The light reflects down the line of her stomach to swaying hips and long thighs to her calves and feet.
It should be difficult to see in the dark, but the dim light shows every curve.