Work Text:
Clorinde demonstrates the proper grip on a sword and Furina wants to sink teeth into her wrist—to nip at Navia's flushed cheek when she laughs loudly and unabashedly—tear into Escoffier's thigh as she leans down to set a warm meal on the table—rip out Neuvillette's throat while he turns to peer out of the window, checking for rain.
Don't they see it? When she's smiling, baring too many teeth—when she shuts the door after them and curls up on the floor, stomach squeezing around all that emptiness.
Furina wants—
Something. What? She just wants, wants, wants—so she makes sure it only cuts into her, not them.