you follow orders too well for someone that loathes to be called dog, can't be anything besides a hound with how you bark and bite where pointed, tied down by leash of your loyalty.
𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓬𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓪𝓻𝓪 𝓕𝓲𝓸𝓻𝓮
˜”*°•.˜”*°• Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies. •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Pҽɾϝσɾɱҽɾ | Vαɱρι��ҽ | Wιƚƈԋ
She gives a shake of her head and a quiet chuckle.
"You don't need to bribe me with gifts to stay on my good side. You know that right?
But since you made it all the way out here...care to enjoy these steaks with me?"
"Or some truly have no tolerance for pain.
When one is on their own and suffering a broken leg, what choice do you have? You push aside the pain and keep going."
&she loves the sweet scent of 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘆 and 𝘳𝘰𝘵 that surrounds her in forests and woods. A mulchy, deep, rich rot that holds no connotation of death and ending, but rather 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 and 𝘢𝘨𝘦. A sense of perpetual 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 and 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩.
someone, please look at me. i've been crying that out for over 10 years now... say that you need me. if someone simply told me that, oh how hard i would try. say you can make use of me... then i'd work like a packhorse.