Courtesans of the Prophet.
ACT I: (These crosses all over my body remind me of who I used to be. And Christ forgive these bones I'm hiding from no one successfully.)
SCENE I: (Jesus can always reject his father. But he cannot escape his mother's blood.)
Courtesans of the Prophet.
ACT I: (These crosses all over my body remind me of who I used to be. And Christ forgive these bones I'm hiding from no one successfully.)
SCENE I: (Jesus can always reject his father. But he cannot escape his mother's blood.)
"it's more a matter of restraint than shyness," he admits, teeth clenching as if to bite back to urge to rip into her. his cheeks appear to be sunken in and the delicate skin under his eyes is a deep shade of purple.
"i'm doubting my ability to 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱."
a brow raised at the way his pupils nearly eclipsed his irises, letting out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "you know you only need to ask." she spoke while closing her book, setting it off to the side. "thought you would stop being shy about that by now."
despite the agony of his thirst, he still admires the way her silken hair cascades over her soft shoulders when she releases it.
⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ "you would think that me looking like death would prompt a little urgency to remedy it," he teases back, fangs throbbing beneath ~
⠀⠀
“ you’ve been staring at me for the last ten minutes, ” she says, with a squint. to anyone else it would have looked judgmental.
“ you look like you’re halfway to death. ” with a tug of the tiny chain woven through her hair, it falls neatly to her shoulders.
&&
nearly eclipse his crimson irises when his gaze tears from her throat to meet her eyes.
⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ "am i? i hardly noticed," he manages to reply, lips catching on his fangs.
her voice sounds distant and drowned out by the immensity of his blood-thirst. his ears are more focused on the sound of her heartbeat as it pushes hot blood through her veins, causing her arteries to pulse in a way most tempting. his pupils are dilated to the extent they ~
she could feel a chill go up her spine, slowly turning to meet astarion's gaze— or so she thought because his gaze is fixated on something else entirely. "you are ogling again." lenora teased lightly before flipping a page from the novel that rests in her hands.
sanguine gaze fixated on the steady thrum of * reader's pulse hidden just beneath the delicate skin of their neck. he imagines the warmth of their blood wetting his parched throat, and it only worsens his thirst. his fangs ache, and his mind swims with the desire to indulge.