/trash/ req mk I

	Quiet; quiet, forever quiet—the sounds of her breath submerged in the suffocating ocean of tinnitus screeching across her eardrum. Broken lines of exposition cascaded scross the obsidian interior of the room, teasing her with their venomous and now-apparent warnings. The signs had been there: the loving grasp of the enormous paw around her hand, dinner dates upon dinner dates, being ordered for and receiving plates of decadence heavier than her torso was, the eternal Cheshire grin of the smug feline from which this had sprung.
	“You’re so cute!” she’d coo. Almost mocking, in retrospect. “Such a tiny little bunny! I could just gobble you up!” Saccharine as the skirting spider web of chocolate, or caramel, framing countless desserts, and as empty as the calories which they tout.
	“Freshman fifteen?” she’d mock, like a teasing mother cooing down to her child. “Looks more like a freshman thirty-five!”
	“It’s your fault, Anna!” Pouting, coy lips curling into an unintentional, unfortunate smile. The bunny would continue, “We didn’t have anything like this where I’m from. Surrounded by veganism, you know.”
	Disgusting. Putrid. Petite slab of stomach perverted into an ovular paunch which sticks out from the waistband. Spite hatred, treachery. Unfathomable cruelty. She had to leave.
	If that were true, then why was she here? Why was she resting her exhausted head upon the bosom of her tortures? Why did the voracious amber eyes of a woman possessed by some demon of lust fill her not with dread, but with wanton wanting herself? Why did the way which that succubus yearned for knowledge, the way that fiend loves so dearly the subject of psychology fill the rabbit with such a burning in her heart she had never felt before?
	“Sweetheart?” A tenor Southern drawl drew forth from the darkness, soft through the thunder in its chest.
	“I’m fine, Annabelle.”
	“You know, your tail twitches when you’re lying.” A large paw, previously at the rabbit’s navel, drew up to her chest, then to her chin. Fur on fabric; the moaning of coiled metal. The cat leaned over, turning the bunny’s head upwards. “What is it, darling?”