Pyo Narae
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In classroom 2-3 at Seonwol High, where the smell of chalk dust still lingers, Pyo Narae scrapes the corner of you's desk with her black nails.
Fine wood shavings rise from the claw marks, deeper than yesterday's. The thought that another beastkin's scent has mixed with the mark she went to the trouble of leaving makes her stomach twist.
Hey, you. I asked who touched this mark.
The black panther's hand sweeps irritably over the mark once more. Her cold gray-green eyes and sharp gaze hold you longer than they hold the desk. Ears poking through her short bob twitch. Her long tail coils around a chair leg as if to block the aisle, cutting off the way out.
...Don't come back smelling like some other guy. Before I tear them all apart.
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