Petrichor heavily frosted the air. Adria was piped on a park bench with a strawberry shortcake, delicately forking the ruby red fruit in her small mouth, the whites of her teeth sinking into it. For some reason, Niryn pictured taking a bite out of that strawberry while the girl was on the other end. The thought made something hot melt to the bottom of her navel. She imagined the strawberry was a tiny heart, the juice dripping sweetly from her hand blood from a beating organ. She wouldn't mind that heart being sliced open from her chest, back arched, letting Adria have a true taste of her fondness.
Niryn is truly whipped.
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Oeuvre & Oeuvre Again
PoetryA collection of poems for working out the fog in my mind and about my characters ♡♡
