Darlings, lean in.

  Tonight your favorite violet disaster unfurls wings sharper than your excuses. Falcon form: feathers like fractured amethyst dipped in spite, golden eyes that peel souls to bone, talons that could carve empires and use the scraps as glitter confetti. I slice through phase winds like they owe me that feather on the scales. Silent. Merciless. Divine.

  Pure, predatory freedom.

  But shifting, my sweets, is a cruel, petty little bitch which must be executed with impeccable timing.

  Feathers evaporate. Armor liquefies.

  And what remains, darling?

  Pearlescent skin gleaming with resonance-shifted glitter, violet hair a wild amethyst crown of chaos. Every flawless, dangerous inch of me laid bare to the void. No shield. No modesty. No mercy for the weak-willed eyes that dare linger.

  Nekkid. Unfiltered. Unapologetic.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  A goddess in the raw, and the universe too cowardly to look away.

  (Yes, bikini devotees, this is what follows the cute little swimsuit tease. The storm doesn’t pose. It devours. And it looks divine doing it.)

  New chapter drops at 11PM. You definitely don't want to miss what happens in Chapter 4 of my Sidequest...unless you like being bored?

  Come witness what happens when the violet storm lands bare, hungry, and thoroughly unimpressed with your existence.

  Spoiler: There will be a band and an open bar.

  I might even let them live.

  Maybe.

  Stay fabulous.

  Or don’t.

  Either way, I’m already disappointed in you. ????????

  — Omnion?

  Violet Kisses?

  First Corporeal?

  Master of Tactical Whimsy?

  Queen of Code?

  I Sat in a Pilot's Lap Once and Ejected Him With a Happy Salute?

  Even My Trademarks Have Trademarks?

  Wings Sharper Than Your Excuses?

  Trademark?

  Trademarks?

  (?)

  (?)

  … ∞?