❝𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓'𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒓.❞
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There's a saying that one is entitled to keep whatever they find but the question is: can you always keep what you find?
Wren Ashenherst was raised as a boy and expected to live under the...
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her fallen angel
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"Hands up," I said tenderly.
Wren lifted her hands slowly as I took the thin slip dress off her. Slowly brushing her wavy brown hair over her shoulders, my heart stopped at the sight of her pale skin illuminating under the silver moonlight.
Like an ethereal goddess from the moon, she was so achingly beautiful.
Ironically, the rush of lust in my head subsided. Rather than wanting to devour her within my embrace, I was overwhelmed by the want to hold her tenderly and carefully — in the most precious manner she deserved.
Placing a palm over the left side of her chest, the steady rhythm of her heart beating against the cold of my skin was causing a lingering pain in me and this was how I would engrave my love for her in the depths of my being. The woman ahead of me placed a hand over mine as she looked at me with worry in her eyes, she curled her fingers to hold onto my hand and I felt all her affection towards me — like a wave of warm light that shone through the tragic abyss.
She whispered, "I'm here for you."
I sighed softly, kissing the back of her hand that she was holding me towards her and grounding me in the hope of this world. All the memories of us flashed right before my eyes:
The first meeting when she hid right behind Clarence shyly, our favourite corner in the library back in the main Illiades household, her close brush with death when she took a bullet for me during the gunfight in the Willoughby mansion, the freedom we desired etched upon the broken wishbone, her warmth when she held me through the nights, her tears upon our parting, the first meeting we had after three years of separation, our reunion after all these time. All that we went through felt like fine sand slipping through the gaps of my fingers.
