patrícia’s Reviews > Drop Dead Gorgeous > Status Update
patrícia
is 62% done
Heat. Tight. The body under him—mate. Ash.
Salt. Musk. Ash. His.
Mate. Claim. Mark.
Seed. Fill. Breed.
Perfect. Treasure. Home.
His.
Nothing else. Only mate. Only Ash.
— Jan 10, 2026 07:13AM
Heat. Tight. The body under him—mate. Ash.
Salt. Musk. Ash. His.
Mate. Claim. Mark.
Seed. Fill. Breed.
Perfect. Treasure. Home.
His.
Nothing else. Only mate. Only Ash.
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patrícia’s Previous Updates
patrícia
is 51% done
Ash lingered in the silence, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Outside, the sky had shifted to pewter. […] Rain would fall soon. He glanced at the window, the slender towers glowing in the distance. That warmth inside him—low, slow-burning—hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled deeper, behind the ribs. A spark he didn’t want to name.
— Jan 10, 2026 04:45AM
patrícia
is 43% done
It wasn’t a kiss. It was an earthquake. A car crash. A goddamn supernova.
— Jan 09, 2026 04:25PM
patrícia
is 13% done
“The cuts are clean, methodical. Surgical, almost. Started at the hairline, worked down to the jaw, peeled it away like wallpaper.”
“Jesus,” Frank muttered.
“Jesus had nothing to do with this, I assure you.”[…]“Same pattern across all five. Faces removed pre-mortem, bodies arranged post-mortem. Your Sculptor—charming nickname, by the way—has a signature. And he’s remarkably consistent.”
— Jan 07, 2026 11:57AM
“Jesus,” Frank muttered.
“Jesus had nothing to do with this, I assure you.”[…]“Same pattern across all five. Faces removed pre-mortem, bodies arranged post-mortem. Your Sculptor—charming nickname, by the way—has a signature. And he’s remarkably consistent.”
patrícia
is 2% done
Loving the writing 🖤
“The city did not stir. Calgrave, mistress of fog and filth, carried on, her gutters full of ghosts, her veins choked with rot. Somewhere far off, a siren rose like a bird with a broken wing. Somewhere nearer, laughter—drunken, lewd, alive.
But here? Only silence.
And the body with no face.
And the one who took it, already melting into shadow”
— Jan 06, 2026 04:16AM
“The city did not stir. Calgrave, mistress of fog and filth, carried on, her gutters full of ghosts, her veins choked with rot. Somewhere far off, a siren rose like a bird with a broken wing. Somewhere nearer, laughter—drunken, lewd, alive.
But here? Only silence.
And the body with no face.
And the one who took it, already melting into shadow”
