August
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, May 3, 2025
There are moments when life feels perfect, as though the universe has conspired to freeze time, wrapping you in its golden haze. But perfection whispers its warning, "Are you sure?" Because nothing in this world is ever ours to keep, everything is fleeting. August is a season of almost, a love that slips through your fingers like sand leaving only the memory of warmth. It's a month that lingers briefly then vanishes, much like the way "you and I". For Matthew Augustus Napoleon, love was a fleeting summer storm, a sweet, reckless surrender to a boy who wasn't his to keep. In their world of hidden glances and sun-drenched afternoons, they promised each other forever, but forever was always an illusion. Now, all that remains are echoes of laughter, shadows of touch, and the bittersweet truth that some loves are meant to be felt, not held. August isn't just a season-it's a memory, a question, a goodbye that never truly left.
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#168
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There are roles a princess can never abandon. A princess does not obey anyone but the King and Queen. A princess does not lie. A princess does not run from the crown that was stitched into her skin at birth. And yet... I did. They taught me how to bow before they ever taught me how to speak. How to smile with my mouth shut. How to bleed beautifully. Rules. Etiquette. Sacrifice. I wore them all like second skin-until the day I tore them off and disappeared. My name is Arabelle Montclair Winthorne Ravenshed. Firstborn of House Ravenshed. The Heir. The Shame. The Ghost. I've lived a dozen lives since I fled the palace. I've scrubbed counters, lied about my name, buried parts of myself so deep I almost forgot they ever existed. Until he found me. Not with a crown. Not with a sword. With eyes that looked too long. With hands that held too tight. With a voice that said I see you when I couldn't bear to be seen. Now I live in a stranger's mansion. And the walls are starting to close in.

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