a bloom of roseate overcomes griffin barnes, his small gesture offering a rush of warmth to the curve of her frosty cheeks (not blushing, burning.) the man standing before her is both large and mighty / stoic and unreadable. and she is shrinking under the weight of the sky (tiny, tiny, tiny, petal.) he frowns at her and it is a wild, wicked thing ; feral eyes offering little explanation of meaning. 'john, do you see the woman ?? i can't quite tell if i'm hallucinating or she is in fact standing before us.'
- excerpt from trace of mischief.
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