@inquisiture asked: ❛ patch . help my muse patch up a wound . / 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄: still accepting.
"It's not going to scar, is it? Unlike you, my profile wouldn't benefit from some roguish wear and tear. I'm better off a polished stone. Imagine me a diamond."
Oh, Dorian! Does the whining ever stop with you? No, the truth mocks. His gums keep flapping. Still, it's all he can think to do as he's saddled there miserable with the paling of the evening. Already, the stars have broken beautifully as they prick the stretch of the twilight with dots of silver thread. It paints the hour like poetry, all rolling posie hilltops and gold waves of honey, but the drip of his bleeding encroaching on his vision? To the void with them, he thinks. Damned that bloody ranger and who'd nearly shorn his brows!
If only he'd been paying attention. If only his head was blaring like a storm. If only he'd told her why the pangs were worsening... If only she knew about the his father's wretched ritual.
There's the druffalo in the room, and Dorian frowns hard. "Are you quite finished?"