disclaimer— ookamisan © masashi okita
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Ryouko hated herself. She literally hated herself.
There was this appalling thought that popped into her mind every now and again: she should go see Shirou. See Shirou. And it was even more fucked up that he agreed; she knew he knew it was his doing that made her the way she was.
Sometimes she missed the way he looked at her with that feral gaze that matched her own, and Gods did she crave his touch despite it being cold, brutal, and horrifyingly scarring in comparison to Ryoushi's warm, kind touch.
It was both disgusting and enticing, she would admit that much; you could say it was her dirty little secret.