- Vol. 01
- Chapter 11
WaitI stand coiffured to the ninth degree.
I smell of lavender and oil of rose.
It hangs in the air offends my nose.
I look like some parody my grandfather would snarl at
Then toss in his jaws to the ditch.
My shame overpowers me.
I dimly recall the feel of snow between my paws
A distant memory.
The thrill, the shot, the whistle, the chase.
The smell of fresh blood dripping from my jaws
Ruby red and thick.
I will make you pay Cruella Deville
I may look resigned to my fate
Your evil eyes do not scare me
I am biding time.