⠀ ⠀ there's a pout that takes shape on rotting mouth , like that of a dog that had just been scolded for bad behavior
———and he comes to heel when eyes are guided on to the silhouette
“ just don’t stare at all okay? it’s rude. or i guess creepy. ” before a disgruntled sound could be made in acknowledgment, digits sought to cease the undead by the jaw—training his gaze to remain on the prize, herself of course.
⠀ ⠀ hand , the crooked and bent finger of aforementioned ' 𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒 ' finding the forehead of lisa to connect dead to living with a tap .
a woman of class would have never
⠀ ⠀ how else is he supposed to stare ? aversion to subject does follow with sunken eyes finding her , instead———perpetually listening to contribute to another conversation where deteriorated vocal cords
what? no don’t stare at them like that. i mean i get it, sometimes when you’re really hangry you just devour that shit. oh. i guess you don’t really have much of a stomach to do that anymore. god that really sucks! i mean i would like die if i couldn’t smack on a grilled cheese
⠀ ⠀ could not otherwise . lips compress to flatten together because she is using vocabulary unknown to him again ,
and the only thing he can make out is an empty stomach .
palm finds own while