( gaze sharper than a dagger, fire lit behind iris. ) it’s no matter of what 𝒊 subject myself to, instead—- yourself. ( up, grabbing wrist to follow. )
@STRMBRNS
“ 𝓂m, yes, my 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 … you look upon her 𝑒ach morning … ” lids growing weary as lover’s entwine, lips hovering an inch before the precipi͟c͟e͟.
@STRMBRNS
“ 𝓎ou know her rather well … ” a sigh 𝒸leaves chest as expression shifts to anguish in 𝒿est, palm splaying over porcelain cheek. as though he has 𝓌ronged her.