❝ 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓. 𝑵𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕.❞
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True love has always been the center of every fairytale; the heart and soul of many stories told throughout the centuries.
Tara and Amaia thought their lives would be just...
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❝ON MY PILLOW, WITHOUT PEACE, I DREAM EVIL NOT UNTIL THE LAST FLIGHT, NOT UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD FATE IS MY CURSE❞
- "Džanum", Teya Dora
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⁂⁂🜚🜸🜚⁂⁂
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It always starts with a kiss.
Lips on lips, the taste of liquor sobering and cool on their tongues. They hold each other close as music thunders around them—Nirvana and Kendrick brokenly transitioning into one another—yet only a brief echo in their ears.
All stories seem to feel like this, a beautiful and somewhat messy symphony of compassion and misunderstanding, all punctuated with the flowing movements of their love as they spill their hearts in the middle of a crowd, high and intoxicated all the same.
Normally, these sorts of stories end with giddy smiles, drunk-on-love kisses, and happy foretelling of a bright future.
But with them, it ends in blood.
Knives buried into flesh, skin smeared with red and searing in pain; there is no one true source of agony but the thoughts that run rampant as death greets an ebony-haired woman in malice.
