@artworksbyMF 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙊𝘿.
He smells 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥.
On heir veil, her shroud, and her lips.
It is the 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 he once kissed. But it is not the 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 of vengeance’s. Because those bleeding lips are not the ones he kissed.
Vengeance is not the soul he once kissed.
The delicate silk tulle had now become an aerie of blood driblets that I myself doubt belonged to anyone; maybe they were mine, or my mother, or my father, or perhaps our family’s reliable associate, who was so unfortunate, was with my parents.
However, she devastated everything. Forge the bedlam and madness into my prestigious descent. The captivating opulent adornment that muffled her body perfectly ended up covered with the scent of iron, vividly furbelowed by the crimson fluid of mine.
Lucifer has been generous enough to craft the most perfect imitation of the lavish attire I had specially ordered for her; with those sequins and glass beads with over 50,000 𝑆𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑠𝑘𝑖 faceted crystals scattered across its curves and corners,
️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️
Once, his 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺 is lethally captivating. A beauty that inflicts an obsession to keep him piece by piece for eternity.
But would the beauty remain beautiful in 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴?
️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️