They follow

They shouldn't.

The girl reeked of roses
and weakness.
Her hair drooped,
unable to resist
the louche pull
of gravity.
Her shoulders slumped
as she struggled
to remain upright.
She limped slowly
through the forest,
her passage marked
by the crunch
of dry leaves.

She was a magnet
for amorous monsters,
well-intentioned sadists,
velveteen wolves.
They followed her
with milky eyes
brimming with sour lust,
dreamed of licking
her iron-flavored blood
from their fingers,
watching her flinch
before a blow.

They shuffled blindly
into her lair,
inhaling her rosy scent
mingled with
the odor of decay

…and never felt
her sharp knife,
heard her soft giggle,the wet smack
of her bloody lips.