Omg I just read part 3 of your Brahms story, we need the fourth part 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 it's written so well omg
Thank you for the kind words, anon! Here is a little section of the current chapter-- a teaser if you will. I promise to update soon, my schedule has been extremely hectic but the chapter is coming along! Enjoy ;)
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“I dreamt about it again,” you murmur as Brahms pauses. “-of the greenhouse.”
The teacup halts middair, dark eyes with an unreadable expression burning into you. The nightmares weren’t a surprise, always coming in the form of strained sobs in the dark. His arms always winding around your torso as you cry into the sheets, trying to soothe the aching memories from your skull– but to no avail.
Silence stretches between you, and suddenly you regret speaking at all. A weighted sigh, a shift as the teacup rattles against the saucer while being set down as Brahms approaches. Fingers brushing your cheekbone, you fight the flinch building from the sting– bruise still tender.
“I just…” you swallow thickly, trying to formulate the words. “I think there’s something out there.” Somewhere hidden across the solitude of the manor, you could almost swear something was amiss. But Brahms only tucks a fallen strand of hair behind your ear, brows furrowed at your paranoia.
“It’s over. There’s no one out there.” Voice low, steady– as if he wants the words to be comforting. As if this could all be brushed under the rug, another secret buried within the walls of the manor.
But you know better, something cold shivering down your spine as you tear your gaze away.
Fingers curling under your jaw, heated breath fans across your face as Brahms sighs. Something akin to worry swims in his coffee orbs, touch anything but forceful– almost reverent while he traces your bruised skin as if you were made of glass.
A silent plea embedded in the pads of his fingers– Look at me, trust me. Stay with me.
You try to ignore the dirt caked underneath his fingernails, try to dismiss the smell of iron that creeps into your nostrils when you inhale, try to push away the unease churning in your throat– but no amount of scrubbing would wash the memories away.
The hand wrapped around your throat. Blood seeping into your eyes as you clawed against your captors. Screams echoing across the glass so forcefully it rattled your bones.
“I want to show you something.”