As I was working on wigs today, a thought crossed my mind about a modern Manon and Dorian so here’s a little side story of that.
Dorian came home late one night, after meeting the Cadre for drinks, to find Manon reading in the arm chair they’d recently fought about keeping. She fought him tooth and nail, quite literally, about keeping it because it was “too comfortable to be rid of.” He watched her from the door way, quiet and content since she hadn’t noticed him yet. A smile danced across his lips as he took in the fact that she was wearing that stupid, ironic shirt he bought her.
She fought him tooth and nail about that, too, claiming it was an idiotic idea to write “be nice” on a t-shirt because people would wear it even if they were horrible. Dorian had digressed, admitting she’d probably been right, but seeing her wearing it made him happy anyway.
He cleared his throat, causing her gaze to slowly lift to his. A smirk played on her lips, her golden eyes twinkling in the low light of their living room.
Dorian uncrossed his arms, stalking towards her with the gait of a predator locking in on the creature it wanted to devour, “Hello witchling.”
Manon’s breath caught, as it always did when he called her that, and slowly closed the book, readying for him to pounce.
“Hello princeling.”
