She let her kimono open fall just enough to show me the tattoo: a bloody hand across her back, like a brand.
Satisfied, she turned and faced me again, pulling her clothes together so quickly and flawlessly that I wondered if I had somehow imagined it.
"My mark of initiation," She said crisply, barely concealing her delight at my discomfort. My pity and disgust must've been evident, because she exposed her teeth in feral delight.
"You misunderstand, sir. It does not mark me as property. That was the handprint of the last man to ever touch me against my will."
YOU ARE READING
Everyday DrabblesShort Story
A drabble is a very short story one hundred words long. No more, no less. They are designed for maximum impact in the least amount of space. For 2019, I'll be posting a drabble every day.