A sojourn it is.
❝His scent is petrichor. He shall always be the golden page of my recollections, of beautiful memories. The greatest archer of the time❞
Derived from the Sanskrit word स्मरण (smaraṇa, "the act of remembrance, remembrance, reminisc...
Hygge [/ˈh(j)uːɡə,ˈhʊɡə/] a quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture).
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SHWETVAHANENDEAVOUREDTO EMBRACE her naked waist closer to himself, the personification of moon to him was so arduous in his sarms such as her tresses swirled by the zephyrs crawling to his nape and falling on his face like waterfall, he was her home. The deepest hour of night was a solitude, for them even the moonlight dared to breach from those gauzy ivory curtains and when the waning silver globe mischievously tried, those gray clouds acted as the barrier.
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"Your fingers always have anything but ink" He huskily grunted rubbing her index finger for the splotch of a charcoal stain seeping in her golden skin, her stomach fluttering as an ocean at the slightly rough stroke of his fingers. "It was there then too, when at that dusk, during our wedding peeking from your mehendi and when I came to Dwarka to take you home"
She scooted more climbing onto him partially, enhancing their proximity, her warm breasts softened over his petrichor chest, settling her chin on her hand pressing on his heart. "That was months ago when you came to Dwarka. I love listening to that story from your beguiling voice." A simper laced his lips which were slightly lilac at the commissure and he closed his eyes placing her head at the crook of his shoulder. "Beguiling?" He asked rolling a strand of her ebony curl on his index finger and she giggled in a rue firmly crossing her arm across his torso saying, "In a charming sort of a way, ofcourse my love"
Arjun never knew he liked narrating stories but with her, it was a serene pleasure. So he began lazily running his fingers in her tangled hair which were entangled with his archer tactic engagements, he inhaled her essence mixed in sweat and ambrosial kindle.
"Dusk has always been a prime force to their union, so when he. . ."
Dwarka was in a triumph ceremony, a union of the girl from kaliyug and the archer of dwaparyug; nature having a gala revel with its ways in that dusk, when he arrived to win her back who won him as a ruler of his subconscious. Thunder was a lute's strings played by his heartbeats in his silver dusky sky, as the diamonds of her yearning slid down his anatomy as raindrops who stood like an oakwood amidst the flash of lighting. The light gleamed on her wheatish face sobbing, appearing as a celestial maiden fallen from the gods' realm, for him. Twilight was building a solitary escape in the city of the blue lord for them who were still to be one.
