it was important to vivienne that if her and her husband were to propel toward an expensive divorce, that her son would witness only the bare minimum. he was, after all, a sweet kid. he was not a pessemier - born from hellfire and certain domination. he was his father’s child; soft and free to be who he was. awaiting his final ride on the park’s infamous slide, she lowered herself into the seat beside a stranger - her purse clasped upon her lap, as she watched him weave between various, equally tall children (and though he was just turning four, he had already grown tall and strong - at least he had inherited that from her line). “can we smoke here?” she asked out the corner of her mouth, watching her boy. “and do you have a light?” @mia-alvarez
