[ It's a temptation, to reach out and bind that promise into his skin. An unfortunate, vengeful, impulse fed to her by the faeries. They liked their promises, their curses, their prophecies. Her hair stirs, like the wind has touched her when there's no wind to be found, the little sign of her own faerie curse pulsing. She bites her tongue while pursing her lips and forces it down. ]
no subject
Do what you will, I won't weep for you.