Apr 5, 2015
Sometimes, he would sit for hours, tracing the patterns beneath her skin. His fingers would chase the coils of her soul as it swirled beneath the borrowed skin where only he could see. It was darkness and pain, burnt to smoke and ash and blown to the winds. It coiled and swirled and released in a thousand different patterns and he memorized them all. “So beautiful,” he whispered softly, following a curl of darkness beneath her breast and trailing down towards her stomach. “So beautiful.”
