𓂅 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗨𝗥𝗚𝗘.

⠀ ⠀⠀ behold,⠀ ⠀ the⠀ ⠀ d̲a̲n̲c̲e̲⠀ ⠀ of⠀ ⠀ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇⠀ ⠀ ...ᐟ ⠀

ᅠ ᅠ “ i've no desire for decorum . 𝐲𝐨𝐮 should understand . ” scoff . 𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛 .ᐟ ᅠ ᅠ

ᅠ ᅠ covered in blood———owl blinking . ᅠ ᅠ

“Mmm, not always, but a quick compliment will get you places.”

it’s not nerves keeping her awake, nor is it a matter she wanted to speak of aloud. yet, why not keep her company .ᐣ there’s still half a bottle of wine left.

blood shed so long ago it has, with age, acquired the color and texture of rust. sad, ominous stains, a threat, a menace, memorials of pain.

“A sweet tongue you say? And who said you didn’t know poetry~”

“Oh, would you rather my words be yours, and yours alone?”

<— drank too much . Skin color changed to red-purple .

a hand lifted to her lips in a futile attempt to conceal a yawn. staying awake became increasingly difficult with every passing minute.

“A mad dog understands the yank of the leash and the hand of its master.”