@dividedriddles (Starter Call)
A literary composition weighs the minimal separation of the knees. A skeletal appendage curls to fit and accommodate the thickset abundance of threadbare pages. With feeble depression from the pad of his thumb, a languid swirl of the eyes round from matters of preference to his existing irritant. If at all Nygma holds a shred of insight, he’ll ascertain Crane’s vexation in spades.
“What is it, Edward?”











