The Decaying

The Decaying

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WpMetadataReadMatureComplete Thu, Apr 23, 20267h 6m
"If we decay, it'll be divine. Flesh to flower, your hand in mine." ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── Lorelei is a lonely woman living in a lonely tower, watching the world rot around her. A plague has consumed humanity. She is left with the walking leftovers, and herself... Until she crosses paths with Beau. He's amongst the trees, lingering in the wind, and all over her mind. Beau is rigid and cold, but buried deep inside, he harbors a softness that pulls Lorelei in. Beau prefers his quiet solitude. His reality has always been desolate and abandoned. Life couldn't get any more bleak. They are oil and water traversing a living hellscape, but the rotters aren't the only danger. Something is closing in on them, and they'll have to work together to survive it. ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── This is a slow burn romance that takes place in a post-apocalyptic world. It is complete at 89,448 words.
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I used to think the worst thing a place could do was keep you. Never taught me different. It lets you choose-and then makes sure the choice chooses you back. By daylight I work the door at Afterglow, a club of glass and iron and music that keeps its own kind of time. By night I count breaths, watch the mirrors, and pretend the soft diamond of salt over my heart is just an old scar. I don't say the word for what I can do under my breath. I don't look too long at the water. I don't answer when the ticking starts. Once, there was an island that ran on names, ledgers, and the right song at the wrong hour. There was a boy who arrived like a reflection and loved me the way a snare loves a sparrow-beautifully, relentlessly. There were rules disguised as jokes, games that tasted like devotion, and a crown that was really a lie if you listened closely enough. Mercy wore resin. Truth tasted like iron. And every wish I whispered came back with teeth. Now the past keeps surfacing-through windows, through music, through the mouths of strangers who don't know what they're asking. I wanted quiet. A pause. Something that didn't bleed me. Instead I got choices, and the kind of love that uses your yes as a lever. If I go back, it won't be because I'm brave. If I stay, it won't be because I'm safe. Either way, the mirror is already looking.

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