Not every catfight is a wild and vicious, whirlwind of claws and cataclysm.
Some are instead slower, more methodical wars of attrition. An attrition that mirrors the long and simmering feud that led to it. Neither woman finding their need for the other’s suffering new or explosive. As it has been ever-present. Ever-intoxicating.
Since a woman and her rival’s eyes first met. Since the distant moment when they two made the decision to be a thorn in each other’s side.
It is in such marathons of hatred and jealousy, that enemies may meet and wrestle. Meet and writhe.
Each seeking to hurt, though never wound. Punish though never defeat.
For in their battles they find the release that drives them. In the other’s cries, the motivation that lets them thrive.