Hellvean
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Literally no one knows that writing has a complex relationship with madness, do you think that one enjoys headaches, tingling, bubbling, and painful loneliness, no one does or at least I don't.. You are skinny, miserable, lonely, and crazy about writing, but at least you are a writer. It takes a lot of effort, I feel crazy and it's fun, I can hardly get out of the dark of my cold room, everything seems withered and sad as if forced to live: the world is majestic and cruel, sick with the spirits of bastards, sick with us madmen, and we are so infected: thinking excessive write this novel Hellvean It is a compound of the words heaven and hell, as another outlet for the madness stuck in my mind, love, art, politics, life and me, in the form of a slow-paced novel that explains in a way the ambiguous relationship between the novel and madness..
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Here she is. I can see the slope of her spine through that thin shirt. She's made of angles I ache to smooth with a hand, but I'd use my lips if she asked. I brush her knuckles with mine. Her skin is cold, but she flips her palm for more contact. I lace our fingers. It's enough to make her look at me. As those kaleidoscopic eyes meet mine, I hold my breath. Then she sets her lips just under my jaw. It rips the air from my lungs. It's the softest thing I've ever felt. "What was that for," I breathe. She pulls back, lashes damp, and whispers, "You're the kind of person that should be kissed." 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 BOOK TWO C O N T A I N S : ❤︎ mature content ❤︎ romance & friendship ❤︎ yearning Copyright © 2021-present Laurel Montaze (immoralLaurel). This body of work (story, characters, ideas) is available exclusively on Wattpad. If you're viewing it on a different website/platform or under a different username, it has been illegally stolen. Please notify the original author. © All Rights Reserved

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