❝i'm dangerous.❞
❝well, hi dangerous. i'm violet.❞
a story where violet manson is hired as a model for the short fused jeon jungkook.
photographer au
sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ: 30/06/19
ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ: 21/08/19
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IMG.03 - ÉCLAIRS
WHERE THE HELL is he?
the parisian streets became thick with a simmering, mediterranean heat. slithering past the illuminated boutiques and the vine-dressed cafes, only seeming to bite and nip at her withering patience.
a soft shimmer of perspiration dusted her skin that bathed in the sun's lonely tears as her eyes continued to meander through the passing crowds. pleading to recognise the familiar coffee-palette man amongst the never ceasing river of portraits rushing through the slender, cement veins of paris.
it had been a few days since her and taehyung's dispute.
the constant weight of guilt stalking her chest pulled her to bring the fractured duet back together at the memory-flooded café de arquette. foreign to the sight of her chocolate and cream laced éclair sitting on her plate, unthreatened by taehyung's ravenous digits.
expelling a breath, the iodine-like frame of her sunglasses slipped down the bridge of her nose, allowing the light to slip back into her fragile pupils. seething as her panorama of vision was dyed into a dazzling white pigment.
finding an unfamiliar stain of raven and white intruding her sight, emerging from the form of the waitress who found herself a stranger in violet's eyes.
before she could question the figure's sudden appearance, a name had quickly laced itself to the woman's portrait.
the dye of bloodless fear absent in her now lightly toasted skin.
lea.
with her image, the stowaway memory followed. illustrating the scene she had attempted to bury beneath the more amiable frames of him on the podium in her mind. bathing in the spotlight of her attention.
why did i run back to him?
after watching what he had done to her.
after having a front row seat to the venom, laced wrath, that was embedded in his genes, ignite at just the smallest bite from another. surveying how the flames that were spat from his body left a series of crystalline scars beneath her skin.
i'm left to wonder if I will follow the same path.
wondering if i'm being blindly led by destiny to believe that something mundane lurks underneath both the external layer painted by Aphrodite herself and the rabid beast that had laced itself within his being.
