Victims of fate pray to God. But isn't it God who condemns them to fate?
I froze as I stared at the tattoo of butterfly wings on the side of his manhood. My right wing had rotted away on my shoulder, while my left wing remained as a tattoo on Kize's body. The colors, the brightness, the shape. Everything about it was mine. I knew it was mine because every wing is personal. Like fingerprints, wings are unique and different from each other. "Do you like it?" He asked and leaned towards my face. With difficulty, I tore my eyes away from the swirling butterfly wings and looked into his eyes.
"Did you do it?" I asked, swallowing. What I really wanted to ask was different, but I couldn't make up my mind. He nodded his head in the affirmative and spread my legs with one hand. I shivered all th
