· Flins perceives it as something much more spiritual than physical - the pleasure matters less than the quiet, reverent awareness of how deeply he is bound to you.
· To him, this is a way of claiming. He detests marring your delicate skin - of causing you pain or leaving marks born of carelessness - yet he can never fully resist the urge to leave proof of himself behind.
· We still do not know much about faes, but I feel like their instincts while in their raw state might go pretty wild, driven by strong emotions for their significant one. As much as he would like to control himself and suppress the desire within him, expect him to lose himself - to move as though guided by instinct rather than thought, senses blurred, restraint unraveling under the weight of how deeply he feels for the one he loves.
· And oh, your scent. It is achingly human, unmistakably yours. It just makes him want to be closer to you, to bury deeper. It strips him of thought, stirs something feral and unguarded, urging him closer, until restraint feels like agony.
· His thrusts are slow, but deep. He takes his time with you, honouring you with each sweet motion, as if it was a testament to the bond he shares with you. Once close, his rhythm quickens just slightly, betraying the restraint he is struggling to keep.
· Even deprived of his senses, his mind remains sharp enough to murmur praises against your ear, telling you just how utterly perfect you are for him, how completely he belongs to you, and your trembling body can't help but clench around him tighter in response.
· His instinct commands him to fill you wholly, until every part of you bears only the traces that come from him alone. Every movement, every press of himself against you, is guided by that need, raw and untamed, yet threaded with devotion.
“How very breathtaking.” The air hums with a quiet tension, catching your eyes with a fathomless intensity as if he could see every hidden corner of you. “Can you feel this, my light? How do our souls—ah—intertwine so beautifully?”
He sank deep into you with each thrust, hovering above you, observing your every single expression almost as if he could devour you whole with his gaze.
“This warmth… your warmth, ngh…” He whispered right into your ear. Voice low and trembling. “I did not ever deem such a possibility for me—to feel such a gentle fire again...”
You longed to answer, to return the weight of his confession with your own, but your voice betrayed you - fracturing into helpless sounds that he drew from you effortlessly.
“Yet you granted me that—that very opportunity—” His rhythm shifted, quicker now, urgency threading through each movement as your legs wrapped around his back and your nails dug into his skin. “To bestow love upon someone so incandescent… so utterly mine to cherish…”
Even in the wildness of his desire, there was a care, a devotion that wrapped around you as tightly as his body did. His lips descended to your breasts, lavishing them with small, deliberate kisses, then gently sucking your sensitive skin. When he found a spot especially tender, he lingered, sucking gently, worshipfully, as though memorizing every inch of you. Only when he had traced every contour, every subtle rise and dip, did he lift his head. “Feel me—yes, just like that, my love.” His lips now met yours, raw and fervent.
One hand cradled the line of your jaw with the utmost care, tilting your face to him as though you were the most precious thing he had ever held. The kiss grew fiercer, and a shiver ran through him, betraying the tension building in his body - he was close, almost at the edge.
He ensured that every motion, every press of himself, brought you only pleasure, guiding you with painstaking care until your eyes rolled back in helpless surrender. Only then did he allow himself release, moving within you with a tremulous intensity. His semen filled you, your bodies left trembling. You felt so achingly full of him.
“Your mere presence feels like I've been permitted to gaze into the sun once more.”
Oh, he did not pull out. The warmth was far too sweet to abandon. He stayed inside you, his eyes looking at you as if not driven by instinct merely a moment ago. Each shiver you let out, he would quench with his gentle touch.
The Lighthouse felt quieter now, as if even the stars had stilled the waters around it, bending the world to a hush for the two of you.
The night whispers of your name ' How does Flins fall for you? ♡ Our yearner boy is back
It manifested as a deep, deep ache lingering in his chest.
One that stemmed from unending questions born quietly in his mind, or rather, unvoiced concerns, almost as if keeping him from rest.
He did not realise how he tended to ponder over the ever-present fragility that clings to each human, much more frequently that he would admit, as though his every instinct compelled him to watch over you, to illuminate your path, step by step.
This would appear as subtle, ever romantic gestures that his mind could comprehend no sooner than his heart would;
· Flins is a gentleman. Each of his actions carries a careful tenderness, born of the fear that even the slightest rashness might mar something as fragile as a flower’s petal.
· Once alone with you, he allows himself a little bit more intimacy; skin meeting skin, his breath warming you, became his unspoken ways of claiming you as his.
· Separation did little to loosen your hold on his mind. He would gather flowers from the moon’s quiet land, sought out the most beautiful jewels he could acquire, and offer them to your hands, confessing that he has always been drawn to beautiful things.
· His way with words remains as one of his greatest virtues, and so he would utter the most refined of them meant just for your ears alone.
“My lady, do you see how the moon is awash with splendor? And yet, I find my gaze drawn only to the way its rays linger upon your face.”
· He feels your sorrow as though it were his own, and bends every instinct to ease it: brushing a lock of hair from your face or adjusting the folds of your garments when weather grows too cruel, hoping the gentlest touch might carry his love directly to your heart.
· And oh, how he cherishes you so. When duty allows, he pours himself into his artistry: sketching your likeness with painstaking care, fashioning ornaments to reflect your beauty, or leaving small tokens that speak of his devotion in ways words cannot.
· He cannot bear the thought of you in danger. When walking beside you, he may rest a hand lightly on the small of your back, as if it could shield you, then steal quiet glances when he thinks you’re unaware, letting his silent admiration linger.
And mayhaps, you will find your heart drawn towards his light.
I just read your vampire Flins fic, & my goodness, I love your writing!! so lovely & tender, & you write him perfectly in character 🖤 thank you for sharing your works with the world!
Thank you so much, such words mean alot to me ♡♡ I'm truly glad that it managed to capture your heart.
I'm taking a break from writing for awhile now, but hopefully I will provide much more pieces in the future 🦇🤍
When Flins speaks to you in the tongue meant only for you. . . ♡
an allusion to @butteronabun's post about fae language being ancient greek.
The moonlight seemed particularly cruel that night; its pale glow washed across the world with a cold, indifferent beauty. Your eyes, heavy with a weariness born not of the body but of a mind unable to quiet itself, lifted toward the sky. You searched the constellations as if hoping one might look back at you.
A sting of cold air filled your lungs, threaded with the taste of salt and the faint bitterness of the sea’s breath.
Waves crashed on the shore, bringing a serene hush, yet even their tender lullaby failed to draw you toward sleep.
You sat on the rocks, on the same land that bears the presence of the still graveyard and the lamphouse of its keeper. The rough structure was grounding, to say at least.
Your lover was absent; and though he resented leaving you to the quiet hostility of solitude, you both understood the necessity. Duty tugged at him, demanding presence elsewhere.
But he had a tendency of appearing where your heartbeat spoke of him from afar.
You felt it then: a tender radiance rose from behind you, its reflection rippling through the waters that surrounded you. The glow wrapped around your form before the sound of footsteps ever reached your ears.
“Oh.” The voice that broke the silence was warm, threaded with a teasing softness that slipped straight beneath your skin. “And what might a lovely miss be doing here at such an hour?”
Your heart fluttered, warmth spreading through it in an instant, the kind that felt like finally exhaling after holding something too tightly inside.
You didn’t turn immediately, you didn’t have to. It was a presence unmistakably his.
Your attention was drifting outward, still. The sea. The moon. The quiet ache beneath your ribs.
He would claim your focus the way he always did. Patiently, poetically, with that quiet certainty.
“To selēnóphōs aichmálōton estin,” The words floated toward you first.
Then, came the touch.
His arms eased around you from behind, enveloping you with tenderness. He drew you close, close enough that the rise of his chest brushed your back, as though your presence was the very thing his soul sought more desperately than air.
“Hōsper kai sý.” he finished softly—“just as you.”
His lips moved slowly nearer to your ear, when his breath skimmed the sensitive skin there, sending a shiver down your spine. “Although I would prefer that my beloved found a proper rest instead.”
You finally turned your head to meet his eyes, your own widened at the foreign words. “...What did you say?” you breathed, the question almost whispered.
A faint curve touched his lips. “Your concern is rather endearing.” He settled beside you now, any distance dissolving. “Fear not, philtátē mou. All that I speak of you is woven from adoration.”
His hand rose to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your skin. He leaned in, the moonlight catching the soft intent in his eyes. “Ah, whatever shall I do for my love not to linger alone so late at night?”
Before you could gather an answer, he drew you nearer. His lips found the line of your jaw, planting a delicate kiss, then another - slower than the last. Each one encouraged your chin to tilt, your body to yield, your breath to tremble just slightly beneath his touch.
Your hands lifted to rest against his arms, fingers curling into the fabric as your eyes fluttered half-lidded, as if taking everything he might give you.
And so he let his mouth wander lower, brushing along your neck with tender, lingering kisses.
He guided you into his lap, holding you as if you were something he’d longed for all night. A quiet sound escaped you, as your weariness left no room for resistance. You simply melted into him.
Only when he lifted his head again did he pause, giving you the moment to breathe with him. Your foreheads nearly touched, breaths mingling, warm against the cold night air.
He tilted your head gently toward his chest, the warmth of his body pressing into yours as the both of you closed your eyes, indulging in each other's presence.
Absent-mindedly, he ran his fingers through the locks of your hair, tracing invincible patterns, as if letting his movements speak of his devotion instead.
Then, through the silence he whispered.
“Ónar hēdéa soi, phōs mou lambrón.” The words lingered in the air, sacred and intimate.
“In the quiet of the night, I shall watch over you.” He added softly, his lips brushed your temple.
At last, your mind softened, surrendering to sleep, as if his presence alone were a lantern guiding you tenderly through the quiet corridors of dreams.
Two lovers indulged in their love in the moon's quiet dominion, love as serene as the silver light upon the tides.
Ever since you and Flins got close intimately, he never ceased to bestow upon you nothing but tenderness.
He would kiss you slowly, not for the sole purpose of it, but as if the gesture itself meant to tell you how deeply etched you are in his heart, how profoundly the love he holds for you runs.
He treats you as something sacred, something worth worshipping - and he never fails to let you know this in the most poetic of ways. Even in the simplest, most natural of acts there lingers a reverence which in his eyes you were born to receive.
Kneeling before you in the dim moonlight, his lips would utter the softest of words how he cherishes your presence, then speak in awe about his gratitude that the moon intertwined your path together with his.
“Forgive my sincerity, but you look captivating as ever, beloved. Stars themselves would weep in envy at a radiance as bright as yours.“ he whispers to you, as if just to witness the silent flutter of your heart and the faint flush at the tip of your ears which his finger loves to caress afterwards.
When you quietly make love, he would gently pull back for a moment, just to see the picture of you utterly awash with his ardor, how he was the one who enveloped you in this warm, comforting feeling, rather than just the lust itself.
“Oh,” he hummed, as if not finding himself affected whole by your scent alone. “My, words cannot convey how fond I've grown of you, my light..." his finger traced along your lips, so softly, as if fearing his touch might stain your delicate skin.
"I would never wish to suffocate you with my love, yet how can I resist, when every fiber of my being clings back to you?"
He asked, but long he had known you were the last thing he would ever give up on. He pressed you to his heart, letting the silence speak the promise his lips could not fully contain.
synopsis. Flins is intoxicated with your blood, and such thirst arosed a desire of yet another kind.
vampire!flins x f!reader wc. 1.9k
this work contains themes that are considered NSFW. MDNI.
tags: oral & anal sex, biting, pussy eating, marking, blood, missionary, unprotected sex, praising, coming inside, flins loosing himself in you
The night's hush embraced the graveyard, bathed in the unwavering glow of the lighthouse cutting through the foggy mist.
Within this sanctuary, two lovers indulged in their love, as if the world beyond no longer dared to exist. One touch after another lingered on each other's bodies like a whispered vow, a tender prelude to another.
He was so unbearably gentle with you - such was his nature, yet beneath that layer of tenderness, you sensed a quiet ache of his hunger, the way it trembled through his resistance.
His sharp fangs brushed against your skin from time to time, with more instinct than intent.
Oh, but could you blame his poor, famished soul? He cherished humanity dearly, and so each time he drew blood from you, it became the quiet reenactment of a sin he could not absolve.
But you never denied him that; it was a pleasure shared between you both. An act akin to tasting a forbidden fruit, ripe with sweetness and sin alike. And still, you only surrendered deeper, savoring each drop.
“My beloved…” His voice trembled with a plea he could no longer contain. His body hovered above, his breath mingling with yours, lips brushing but not yet claiming. His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, told you more than any words could. “Reason has forsaken me. Please…”
“Hush, love, I know.” Being aware of his need, you guided him down towards the crook of your neck. He breathed you in, as if remembering the scent of mercy itself. Your fingers slipped into his hair, pulling him closer, as if giving a quiet consent.
Only then, upon sensing your silent offering, did he lower his head and trace the curve of your neck with his tongue. His breath grew uneven, quickened by his restraint. His gaze lingered there, darkened with hunger, as if still warring with himself over what he longs to claim. “I will give you my life as debt and vow, yet in this moment—”
“Grant me but a taste of the soul that has bewitched mine so utterly.”
His fangs, like two ivory crescents, bit into you with the utmost reverence. You whimpered, pain surging through your body from the hollow of your neck.
Your fingers tightened in his hair as he drank from you, as though you were the very breath sustaining him, without which his being would unravel.
Your vision has blurred into a soft haze; every sense consumed by him. His scent enveloped you completely, leaving no room for anything else.
As the warmth of your blood cursed through him, his hips started to move against yours in a slow rhythm, as if guided by something unseen. Every motion measured, tethering you to him with quiet inevitability.
“K–Kyryll… that's, oh, too much… wai–!” His hand covered your mouth, swiftly but most gently so as not to hurt you. You trembled, startled by the abruptness of his touch, as you sank helplessly in the tide of sensation he initiated.
As his teeth were buried deep inside you, his hand glided down to your thigh. Deliberately, he caressed it, as if silently asking for approval to proceed further.
You felt his hardness throbbing beneath the layer of clothing, deep warmth spread through your body like an unquenchable fire.
His hand reached for the clasp of your bra, one of the layers still shielding your sensitive skin. It startled you, but you did not resist him.
When it slipped away, he embraced your breast tenderly, tracing along the curve of your hardened nipple, still lost in the act of taking your blood.
A moan left your mouth, swiftly stifled by your hand. Shame coursed through you, yet it could not temper the undeniable desire that left you trembling.
His lips grew increasingly stained with your essence every passing moment. Your eyes half-lidded, drowning in the burning feeling, caught between the haze of pleasure and the aching feeling of his fangs sinking deep inside you, as if he touched every single vessel in your body.
His fangs withdrew at last, leaving a heat that seemed to pulse through each vein. He licked the blood which remained, as though to claim every memory of your heartbeat.
His mouth found its way from your throat to your lips, pressing them with yours, making you taste your own blood in his mouth. Its intensivity stole your breath, almost suffocating in its essence, were it not for the quiet mercy he always held towards you.
You gasped for air just as you parted, the sight of you all tousled awakened something primal in him.
“Such a heavenly sweetness you carry… my, how lovely you are. ” He cooed, his hand leaving your chest to brush a lock of your hair aside, resting it softly behind your ear.
“What is it, my heart? Are you all undone already?” Before he would let you react, your last piece of undergarment has been stripped away from you, causing you to unleash a soft sound and instinctively wrap your legs together.
“What a divine sight…” his gaze traced every curve of you, admiring you entirely. “One heavens itself would envy, yet it belongs to my eyes alone.”
“...D–Don't look at me like that…” your voice trembled, laced with embarrassment, both of your hands now covering your visage.
“Ah, is that it? My light, you are radiant as ever. Please, show me your face.”
He loathed doing something you do not wish for; thus, his words became his only instrument.
And one he handled a tad too smoothly for your own good, too - though hesitantly, your arms would spread on both sides of the pillow, revealing your face kissed by the moonlight.
“There you are.” He placed one last tender kiss upon your cheek before his body made its way lower, now worshipping you from between your tights. His tongue traced your skin on one of them, as his eyes locked with yours.
“Allow me to bring you delight.” His tongue gently brushes your sensitive skin, progressively heading lower. After a short, heated beginning, the tip of his tongue caressed your folds, parting them with each move of it. Your hands clutched on the bed sheet from the sudden sensation, tights clenching instinctively.
It hit all your most vulnerable areas, soft moans escaping your mouth. He gradually quickened his pace, making your hips move in sync, overwhelmed with desire.
He draped your thighs around his arms, rising and kneeling before you.
Your core was soaked with arousal - and he would drink every last drop that came out of you.
Just when you felt your release near, he moved his lips to the back of your thigh, burying his teeth into your skin yet again - another distinct sound left you. Scarlet blood flooded down your arousal, when he indulged for yet another time.
Tears filled the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed with the feeling. “…More, please…” You exhaled, as your skin made contact with the bulge in his pants. The sudden friction made him unleash a quiet sound, one ripping him out of his last pieces of temperance.
He put you back on the bed, his hands moved down to unfasten his belt.
With a swift motion, he took off his pants, one last layer still covering him. “...Let your fingers linger, should you have a need.” He guided your hand to his member, already soaked through the fabric.
As you reached your hand, hesitantly, your thumb brushed against it delicately.
Even such a small touch awoke a reaction in him.
He took your other hand to his lips, sinking his teeth deep into your wrist.
Crimson blood made its way down your arm, which he licked to his heart’s content.
“Ah, my love… how shall I ever earn your forgiveness, as such a greedy man?” He asked teasfully, holding your hand near his face.
You could not wait longer.
You unzipped his pants, while he looked at you with half-opened eyes, as if admiring your eagerness.
His immense length appeared at once, already leaking with pre-cum. All that blood drinking sure must have had a rather dire effect on him. "Enjoying the view, are we now?"
You scuffed in response. He put it near your entrance, leaning over you as to give you a deep, fervent kiss. “You're a perfection made flesh…” he murmured, your foreheads touching.
“Have me, love, in my entirety.” His tip kissed your entrance, which hit all your senses. Your arms enveloped around his neck, as if accepting how you're about to unite as one.
After making sure you're ready enough, he pushed himself inside you, making you squirm. “Kyryll… ah, Kyryll…” Your eyes protruded from his arms, awash with tears.
“I'm right here... right here. You're doing so beautifully.” He was almost whispering, telling you how well you take him, how you were made for this, slowly pushing deeper inside.
As he entered fully, he paused, giving you time to settle into him.
Only then, he proceeded to move slowly. He held your hand in his, his eyes locking with yours.
His pace was deliberate, hitting all your deepest spots every time, making you tighten around him. You minded not the moans that escaped your lips, for you knew he adored your voice just as morning songbird's.
Your arms enveloped around his neck, when pain was slowly dulled by pleasure.
His head moved closer to the line of your throat, sucking the flushed skin, extracting melodic sounds that wrapped around his ears like the most delightful of silks.
“How perfectly you fit me… as if you had been made for none but me.” He began to move now with a steadier, quicker rhythm, each motion full of care yet filled with urgency.
“Ah… Don't say such–nnh… things…!” You barely uttered any words, as the shivers of pleasure were the ones speaking for you instead.
“Oh, but then–ah, how else could I speak what your presence compels in me?” He whimpered, quite dazed himself.
Lustful sounds of him thrusting into you filled the room, washing away last traces of innocence.
His pace would go rapid, moved by impulse deprived of reason. In his mind, there was only you.
His head moved to the hollow of your neck again, marking you, licking the remnant blood, and biting yet again as though wanting to claim you whole.
Your orgasms were close, just as he breathed you in, fastening up the pace.
“F-Fuck, Kyryll… ‘mm close, so, so close…” You cradled his head in your hands, allowing him to intoxicate himself with you.
“Yes, yes you are… so am I, my star.” He sank into you one last time, just as a few moves was all it took for the two of you to feel the wave of climax coursing through you at once.
You both trembled, clinging to each other as if you wanted yourself even closer beyond the physical possibility. He filled you deep down your belly; warm, fuzzy feeling spread through your body.
It was covered in both sweat and blood, but you did not bother yourself anymore. With your last pieces of strength, you reached your hand to his jawline, touching him gently. Closing your eyes, you felt your soul reborn in the warmth of his love, before sweet weariness drew you into his arms.
He scooped you, watching as your worn out, yet ever tender face illuminated in the moonlight. “How precious you are to me… You give so freely, even when my soul trembles with it. Stars have blessed me with you, indeed.”
He pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, and in that quiet touch, the stars sealed their vow. The night has wrapped you both, binding your hearts in rest.
The concept of Flins showing you his vulnerable, fae side.
(a portrayal of his yearning nature ♡)
reader is implied to be female.
His duties as a Lightkeeper are bound to keep him occupied well enough, but when the wind soaring through the lands of the moon whispers of its tranquil grace, it somehow always guides him back to you.
That is the silver of freedom he allows himself to indulge in. Returning to your warm arms after hours spent scattering the Wild Hunt has become his quiet ritual, one lightening up his relentless days he learned how to cherish.
This man was one long devoted to solitude, keeping his past buried beneath the veil of silence. Yet this time, when you entered his solemn life, it was as if, for once, someone offered him the same, tender light he had spent centuries bestowing upon others.
Back then, he would tell you that a heart such as yours belongs to the sunlight, that even though he treasures your presence amidst the cemetery's hush, he would rather see you somewhere safer.
But now, he could not picture a world where you would not lie beside him, inside the lighthouse that the two of you decided to consider home.
He would gradually grow accustomed to your presence; now yearning for you whenever you're not near him. Should duty call him, he already begins to grieve, for he knows how his heart splinters each time you're apart. He wishes you safe, and as much as he trusts you, he cannot summon faith enough to believe you'd always emerge unscathed from the world's cruelty, even when he's there to protect you.
If harm ever were to befall you simply because he failed to guarantee your safety, he would not forgive himself, as he's not the type to dare gamble something as sacred as your life.
And so, when he finally allows himself to reunite with you, his composure unravels. He goes straight to you with no hesitation crossing his mind. Laying right beside you, he buries his face in the hollow of your neck, clinging as though you were the anchor of his being.
He breathes you in, not even because of how fragrant you are, but how human, a warmth so achingly alive.
“Long day?” You murmur, though you already know the answer. Even though his feelings and needs were processed rather differently than a human's, you knew how much his work might strain him.
His hands found your waist, holding it gently. “Were it within my power, I'd ask the stars to delay their rising, now that I'm here with you.”
He brushed a kiss against your cheek, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. “Unfortunately,” he adds. “thoughts of you must remain enough of a sustain when the distance grows too cruel.”
You brushed his long hair strands ever gently, until the tension inside him drained from his body, like sand from an opened fist. Sleep might have taken him, were he not so used to denying it.
His lips drifted down your neck, leaving gentle kisses. Your hands in his hair now gripping him firmer, his restraint faltering beneath the gravity of missing you. His mouth traced your pulse, your breath catches, resulting in a soft sound escaping your mouth.
“Kyryll… it tickles, ah–” you murmur, torn between rationality and your own desire. Yet your hands only drew him closer to you, helpless against the ache he stirs in you.
His tongue tasted your skin, following the delicate line of your jaw. “Forgive me, my light. I seem to lack any restraint tonight. How terribly unmannered of me...”
His hand that rested on your waist glides down, finding the back of your tight. Before you could protest, he captures your mouth in a deep kiss.
It steals your breath as a result of both the intensivity and suddenness of it. Your fingers clutch on the fabric of his shirt, muffled sounds slipping from your mouth as the world narrows to the taste of him.
He left a faint trail of saliva between you when you two finally part, glistening in the half-light.
“Too much, dearest?” He asks softly, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, giving you a moment to come back to your senses. “Breathe.”
He whispered softly, placing a tender kiss against your skin, as if making a quiet apology.
“Did… something happen today?” you ask at last, still quite dazed, just as your hand drifted up to trace the curve of his jaw.
He closed his eyes, exhaling a low, slow breath. “No, not particularly.” His voice falters just slightly, almost human in its tenderness. “I only… missed you dearly, more than I meant to.”
He surrendered to the touch you offered him, the intensity now dissolving into something quieter, the air growing calm like the waters after a storm.
His forehead now rested against yours, whispering to you how being near you steadies his being after the chaos of battle.
From a moment of passion, you two have embraced the simplicity of the quietness; he trust you enough not to be only recognized, but seen.
The lighthouse creaks; waves press softly against the rocks below. In the dim light, you could notice how his features lose their sharpness, how his usually untouchable nature gave way to something unguarded.
You feel his fingers twitch at your waist before they still completely.
“Sleep, my love.” You press a kiss to his temple. “Let me be the one who guards your dreams tonight.”
Outside, the tides rise and fall, the moon drifts higher. Inside, the keeper of light allowed himself to take a respite, at last.
dear god, why would you put me to a trial i was ill-prepared for, i wonder? when my heart was ever empty, so starved that it devoured more than it was allowed to?
