Little girls are made of sugar and spice but this is like sucking on a penny.

It isn't sugar sweet, just metal and copper rolling over her tongue in fat drops.

She thinks about the too red blood they'd mixed in Pamela's good Tupperware.

She thinks about it sticky and sweet, weeping out of B's laughing mouth, about bathwater turned pale pink.

She lets her teeth bite only hard enough to press twin crescents into the parchment skin just below the nail but it's enough to make Brigitte pull her finger away and frown at the marks.

"Jeez, Ging—"