The petals of an orchid were withering in the low light of the morning. A PITY , Dorian would muster to himself. They had made quite the progress with their bloom , yet many good things seem to squander. Lips purse in another sigh as he snips them away ,CAREFUL not to get the stem. ‘ I do enjoy the sound of music , ’ the blond whispers , honey defined and soothing , ‘ it is art ... that keeps us ALIVE. ’ @sopraetic






