At 11:47 on a tuesday night, Bella Swan met her match.
She had been doing this for years and tonight was no different. The practiced ease was becoming nearly therapeutic. She could feel something urgent and unfulfilled building within her when she went too long without releasing, like a smoker addicted to the burn in their lungs.
A drinker lusting for the fire in their belly.
Yearning for something that was probably bad for her health, but felt too good to quit.
She wore a mask, but secretly loved the stench.