send me 😨 to see how YOUR MUSE appears in my muse’s NIGHTMARES
𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐘. meetings of his own command have run its course over the afternoon and into the crest of the evening. passing a guardsman stationed at the corner of the corridor of the nobleman’s chambers, he sends and receives a smile — albeit slim and suspicious from the soldier. on the marble, he hears the click! of his own boots and the wisping of wind from open balcony doors. a fine summer’s day, he thinks to himself as he rounds the last corner in a silence only reserved for a day of such NORMALITY.
suddenly, ‘ peter! ’ — a call from his own chambers, feminine and pained.
alarmed by the break in the air, his pace quickens to simmer along the edges of an almost jog. heavy breaths now reverberate from the room at the end ( his room... he ponders. why ought there to be some poor soul in there? ) and peridan reaches the door with a huff. at last, he presses an ear to the wood and a hand curls around the handle, the same breathing and pained cries persisting. it is then he decides to open it, opening to a world of JEALOUSY AND HATRED he wishes he has never known.
‘ don’t stop! ’ the crier fully viewed in his eyes now... the causer of such: a familiar face too. in a lustful embrace, sentenced to the edge of ecstasy by the man below her, princess tatiana of russia turns toward the figure at the door with a smirk. blue eyes of hers shift into a cold hue, the sight of her fingertips pressing into the high king’s to leave a crystallising imprint of her touch. ‘ don’t you see, my dearest perya? ’ she speaks, laboured with each thrust, in an accent that is not her own. ‘ you are to be wed to that terebinthian harlot...! it is only fair that i get the true king — ’ the moment of bliss is reached and a glacial dagger plummets deep into his heart ‘ — i have always deserved. ’
