Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❛I watch the work of my kin bold and boyful Toying somewhere between love and abuse Calling to join them the wretched and joyful ❜
She washed her bony fingers in the basin, scrubbing off the dirt and sweat that formed in days. She picked up the cloth, wiping the freezing liquid off. Her fingers felt light without their gold. She slipped them on, one by one. First went the ruby one with a stone too large for her finger, her lucky one. Then she slipped on an emerald, the one that always stayed on her middle finger. The rest went in different shades of gold, yet only these two mattered.
❛Shaking the wings of their terrible youths Freshly disowned in some frozen devotion No more alone or myself could I be ❜
He sat in his office, going through the last pieces of documents before he'd be gone. Gone for Saints know how long, leaving her in charge. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. He signed the last piece of paper, ignoring a plate of food resting at the end of his desk.
❛Lurched like a stray to the arms that were open No shortage of sordid, no protest from me With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean ❜
She stood in her tiny room, pushing the numerous knives into their sheaths. She counted them over and over again, naming them by their rightful names. There was a tight knot building inside her chest. Guilt. It wasn't right what they were doing. Nothing about it felt right.
