She grew erinaceous—spiny, sharp-tongued, unyielding.
Alone in her flat, she snarled at kindness, mocked warmth, armoured herself in sarcasm.
Monsters wore smiles, knocked politely. She answered with venom. Better rude than ruined. Better feared than fooled.
Her solitude wasn’t peace—it was survival. And her thorns? Her defence.
Creative Experiments and More 