“It's so dark in you. Like earth.” Coffin. A grave in the ground. Cường lowers his lighter. She’s the rattle of hollow roaring in the aching of her bones, and he isn’t so sure what about her’s most overwhelming: the blaring of that empty, or that depth they seem to take--hidden, buried, like she’s a thousand and one deaths. A frown turns his lips, and the store’s windchimes tinkle. “You’re so deep. How can you hear them when you’re so deep? My praying.” Mourning. “How do I make sure you feel them, the incense I’m wicking?”
@vhampire, ♡’d.









