closed starter for lavinia de vera.
𝚒𝚗𝚝. 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚍𝚢𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.
encumbered by your own written word: a white, pressed collar and the lurking vestiges of your good manners. the black jacket drapes, uncreased, over the back of @audeamuus’s plush chair. watching with eyes that would glow in the dark. ( nowhere is left unseen: even when none sit upon the spared seat. ) a feline pair hidden in the bushes, lowered to the ground like a mere guideline for passing cars. its lupine companion balances on broken white lines. the marked boundary of a road’s middle. a hunter and her bait: may you speak in the dark tongue of cracked bones. each feast on the same carrion: lips stained with the same blood. the razor catches on his skin. a rough thumb traces above his jaw. jack forgets to hiss until a droplet of blood pools into the fabric of his shirt collar. ‘ ah, look at that. look what you’ve done to me. ’ his inflection leaks into a pout. crimson smudged up to his cheek; a pinprick of pain nestles right where it belongs. ‘ bled me with my own hand. smart cookie. ’