Latest Shouts In The Shoutbox -- View The Shoutbox · Rules -  


  Reply to this topicStart new topicStart Poll

» FOOLISHLY FOOLISH, tag breabreabrea
LUCERYS VELARYON
 Posted: Oct 4 2015, 06:16 PM
Quote Post
Group Icon
19
years old
With a free-loving but hard head on his shoulders, Lucerys has both struggled through the hardships of being a second son and still reveling in the freedoms it allows. While his heart lies with the sea, he has spent many years in the public eye and is no stranger to court life.
from driftmark
played by: shelbs


Blood seeped from his abdomen. He'd been bleeding for what felt like hours. His fine woven doublet and trousers were nearly black with his dark lifeblood, huge giant stains that flowed more freshly through his fingers as he pressed a feeble hand to the stab wound. He was not sure if he'd reached sobriety again, or if the amount of blood he'd lost was still making him feel lightheaded and as numb as Ashes made him feel whenever he took long pulls from a smoking pipe. Stumbling through narrow alleyways and shoving his way through crowded streets, Lucerys caught a brief glimpse of himself in a window he passed, noticing the faded colors from his face and the heaviness of his eyelids. His mind was unclear and he did not know where he was going, yet it came as no surprise to him that no one moved to help him. He was a foreigner, and the Pentoshi had their own ways of dealing with things. If anything, word had already reached the public about the boundless Westerosi fool who came looking for more powdered opium, speaking a language hardly anyone understood. Flashing too much coin and doubting the amount sold to him, Lucerys was swiftly taught the farce of his methods and, now coinless and without Ashes, he staggered painfully with his gushing stab wound.

His knees were the first to give out, and he remained conscious long enough to feel the hard collision with the marble floor as he finally collapsed to the ground. Lying on his side he caught a fading glimpse of the pairs of feet that came up to him, some bared and some booted, and a faint part of his mind recognized where he was. Brea's. He'd made it back to Brea's home. Closing his eyes, he felt a hard shove at his shoulder as someone rolled him to his back, revealing the wound that continued to seep from his gut and onto the fine polished floors. He heard another woman gasp and another laugh, and he almost feared he would not find help here. In a tongue he recognized but did not understand, someone pushed demands at the other, and for a brief moment he was sure he'd heard Brea's name pass their lips. Yes, get Brea, he'd tried to say, the attempted syllables coming out in nothing more than a painful, raspy sigh. Would he die here, so far from his home? Would Coraly have to return with his box of bones, sailing the Blue Lady herself? Would the Princess have to meet him at his grave instead of the altar?

The Princess. "Rhaenna," he groaned inaudibly, the pain of the stab wound almost gone to him now that he had so little blood to feel it. Feeling cold and pale, Lucerys let his eyes close one more time, barely conscious when Brea at last came to his side. With the help of two other male patrons, they hauled the sorry admiral up from the ground, practically carrying him up the stairs with only a slight groan to signal his cling to life. Head lolled downwards, Lucerys was barely more than a limp corpse when they at last reached Brea's rooms, dumping him rather indiscriminately onto a pillowed lounge. Whether or not she protested the placement was lost to him, for he was certain the room around him was spinning faster than he could count the revolutions. Or was he just floating and spinning himself? He could not tell, but his nerves were on fire and they tingled almost numbly, the loss of blood from his veins leaving him raw and in the shadow of the Stranger. Was he truly going to die here? "Brea," he croaked correctly this time, the word barely more than a whispered ghost on his bluing lips.


PM
^
BREA
 Posted: Oct 7 2015, 07:46 PM
Quote Post
Group Icon
22
years old
A high class courtesan that is often on the arm of very rich and extravagant men, no stranger to parties or the lavish things. Formally known as the Maid of the Sea, and stripped of everything she had. Brea narrowly escaped with her life and as tried to put her past behind her ever since.
from Pentos
played by: oswhinnnn


Quitting was something her patrons struggled with. Some had never tasted the substance that rolled across their tongues before, others had grown into their skin with the white tendrils inflamed in their bones. Brea had not often spared them a thought, she did not know the tales of what happened to them after they had been with her, for she was only a mark along the way in their greater journey. For all she had was foreigners who were quick to come and share her bed, and had the same pace and idea when leaving. It was a lifestyle one could adjust to. Perhaps it was not the sort of ballads or legends. But it was something to live by, to earn a living with. It was not like the silver haired courtesan had much of a choice in the matter. She was counting her blessings to be alive after all this time.

The markets were overflowing with the excess dregs that had hauled themselves in before leisure day. With one idea in mind, she weaved through the back streets, avoiding the throng of people and stepping through the guts of fish, and whatever other leftovers there was behind the stores exterior. Long cascades of silver tresses spilled over her shoulders and past her ribs. Her tepid skin was living for the faint wisps of breeze that were trickling intermittently between the stalls shielded from the oceans kiss of life by the towering structures between them. Intending to collect what she intended before quietly returning home. Having no desire to dwell among the hot and sodden bodies, where the odour lining their bodies was stronger than the muscles lining their frame.

Her bags lined with the purple and blue substance of dye, the trip back seemed to disappear all too quickly beneath her sandalled feet. Her skirts floating behind her, allowing the skin of her legs to breath in the moist air, a soft whistle rolled across her tongue. Excitement budding in her chest like a starving flower in search of light. The woman had only been among her belongings and rooms for a handful of seconds before a serving boy burst through her doors. Violet gaze narrowed, piercing the small creature, a reprimand on the tip of her tongue. Designed to instruct him on etiquette, only to be swallowed by the news he fed her."Your patron is here, I think he's dying." Puffing slightly from the climb of the stairs. Rolling her vibrant hues, Brea continued with what she was doing. "What makes you say that?" Another few pants before the child continued on boredly. "He's been stabbed."

In a flurry of skirts and perfumes, Brea was down the flights of stairs as quickly as her heeled shoes would carry her. Only drawing breath once she had crossed the marble floors to be beside him. "Is this yours?" With only a nod to signify that she had heard, the woman felt as though she had lost of voice. It was easily arranged for him to be brought to her rooms, even with the mumbling of the women behind her. Wondering why on earth he had decided to come here. It was bad for business. Yet they got her all she needed, while the courtesan shadowed the two pillars of men who carried him up the winding steps. Pressing her painted lips together as they dropped him, rather carelessly, to the lounge, Brea moved to his side. "No 'Brea' me." Scathing tones perhaps would have burned him were it not for his current state.

Drawing her lithe legs beneath her, the silver haired woman dropped to the rugged floor beside the chaise. Dutiful fingers tore the material with a flex of her muscles, peeling back the sodden doublet to find what she was seeking. Setting to work the the short amount of supplies that had been placed beside her. "What you do?" Finding that her mind was turning to muck in the face of the pulsing and oozing mess before her. Common slipping off her tongue like oil on water, nothing she wanted to express could come to mind. Constantly fading in and out of reach. Making her feel as desperate as he must have, in the face of it all. Instead of trying to say more, the woman set to work attempting to salvage what she could from the damage.


PMEmail Poster
^
LUCERYS VELARYON
 Posted: Oct 16 2015, 07:22 PM
Quote Post
Group Icon
19
years old
With a free-loving but hard head on his shoulders, Lucerys has both struggled through the hardships of being a second son and still reveling in the freedoms it allows. While his heart lies with the sea, he has spent many years in the public eye and is no stranger to court life.
from driftmark
played by: shelbs


Spinning, spinning, spinning. Down, down, down. Cold, cold, cold. Lucerys was beyond sensation, the tingling of his deflating nerves now nothing more but a frosty, faint sting as blood continued to seep from his stab wound. Coated in his own blood, he did not form a response as Brea came to kneel beside him, a flurry of unseen purple and silver that only some figment of his mind barely registered. A shallow breath came and went, sometimes not at all, going seconds without inhaling, fearing the struggle of lifting his chest each time he tried. Was this what it felt like to die, slowly and surely? Going limp with each passing moment, the young admiral found himself almost begging for the cool embrace of the Stranger. His strength was gone, and with it, his mental will fading fast. Lucerys could almost no longer care if it was Pentos he died in, and in Brea's company instead of in his Princess Rhaenna's slender arms.

Rhaenna. Suddenly, a faint, strained groan growled in his throat. With what felt like all the might of the Seven Kingdoms, Lucerys fought to open his eyes, pale and glazed as they were, and groaned again once he realized the domed ceiling was still continuing to spin above him. Rhaenna. He could not die here. He could not return to his princess in a painted box of bones. Though she had scorned and shunned him all those months ago, Lucerys knew he had to get back to her. Even if it meant dying once seeing her, that would be alright. He had to last at least that long, long enough to return to her, and hold her one final time. Rhaenna. He could not meet the Stranger now, not yet, not here. With sheer willpower he managed to push away the spiraling of the room, but it was not without the result of a thick sweat across his forehead, and the sounds of pain he was making were growing louder and louder the more Brea attended to him. Gods, what was she doing?! Ripping out more of his flesh?! Had the serrated blade not done enough?

"No!" He suddenly shouted, legs writhing in pain as her fingers probed through and around the gaping stab wound. Images of his princess began receding from his mind, flames of agony licking up in their place. Lucerys twisted beneath Brea's bloodied hands, shouting again when a pair of thinly-robed fingers came to join her. He was not sure when, but he suddenly felt a pressure at the base of his head, pushing him upwards, and a hard metal rim shoved against his lips. With but a mere groan of protest, a warm, bitter-tasting liquid was poured into his mouth, slender but surprisingly strong fingers clamping his jaw shut and forcing him to remember how to swallow. Milk of the poppy, some distant voice told him, or perhaps it was Brea's voice, but Lucerys already felt incapable of moving his muscles by the time they unceremoniously let his head fall back to the pillow. The way it spread through his chest like friendly, familiar tendrils, the way it reached his blood and eased his pain like the tide over Driftmark's shores, it was all too welcome to the injured admiral. After all, had he not gotten himself stabbed and nearly killed over his insatiable hunger for opium and its extracts?

He was not sure the hour when his eyes opened next. Not as pale nor as glossed, Lucerys glanced around the sickeningly familiar ceiling above him - only to realize it was not the same ceiling he'd lost consciousness beneath. Clutching at the linen sheets beneath him with a single hand, a small part of his mind recognized the feel of Brea's bed against his back. How had they moved him? When had they moved him? Though stripped bare of his doublet and his shirt, he remained covered in his own sweat, and an array of candles filled the nightstand beside him. Silver basins of bloodied water still remained on the floor, and metal instruments no doubt used to sew his flesh together were there for him to briefly inspect. Tight linen bandages had been wrapped around his back and over his abdomen, thickening over his wound, and he grazed a curious palm over the texture... only to immediately regret it as pain flared up in his side and seared into his bones. "Brea?" He called out, his voice somewhat harsh and coarse, and it hurt to swallow as he tried to find his vocal chords. "Brea?"


PM
^
BREA
 Posted: Oct 18 2015, 12:03 AM
Quote Post
Group Icon
22
years old
A high class courtesan that is often on the arm of very rich and extravagant men, no stranger to parties or the lavish things. Formally known as the Maid of the Sea, and stripped of everything she had. Brea narrowly escaped with her life and as tried to put her past behind her ever since.
from Pentos
played by: oswhinnnn


Killers. Her city was full of killers, thieves and vagabonds. The woman had thought her lover had known this. That he saw Pentos for what it truly was. That he was not some blind, naive fool thinking it was so simple to get what he wanted. Brea had not even paused to consider that something like this would happen. Mayhap that had been her downfall. There was a reason that prophets had said there was no honour among thieves. Though she had not known he would pick up this fools quest for the white power he so readily needed to fill his lungs. How had he been so foolish? Why had he not wished to wait for her? She always had a ready supply of the substance at her fingertips. That was their ploy though. Lure patrons in with the almost sickly sweet smoke and have them indulge in more ways than the other. Always leaving them wanting more.

It was the first time that the silver haired courtesan had felt guilt ridden to one of her clients. They ultimately made their own decisions with the future that she had handed them. Yet for the life of her, or her wanton goddess, she could not understand why she was so burdened with this silver haired Westerlander. Perhaps it was because he had been just a boy when he had fallen into her arms. Or mayhap it struck a chord in her heart that had long since remained dormant. Seeing the silver lined veins mapping across his flesh, the slow and strained rise and fall of his chest. It closed a fist around her heart that she had not known she was capable of. The Westerlord writhed beneath her fingers, forcing her hand in pouring a liquidized concoction of his cravings down his throat.

The blood chilled on her fingers, coating them in a rusted and weightless layer. Seeming to only thicken as more hands moved to assist her. The woman who had taken her in all those years ago, her small stature was painted beside Brea while she worked. Watching silently and only moving to pinch the skin, reheat the tongs, clean whenever her worker needed it. The smell of burnt flesh was almost imprinted on the inside of her nostrils. The burn from the tongs heated her gaze, urging the need to blink, yet she refrained. The violet hues burdened with a much more gruesome task. One that was higher up on the scale than her trivial needs. Leaving the boy marred with an ugly scar and even breathing, Brea left to wash.

"Brea?" The name called to her over the sounds of water in the basin, ringing against hollow ears. Dropping the sodden cloth from her forearm, the woman sighed. Feeling exhausted and past the point of no return. Still tasting the scent of his charred flesh on her tongue, the maiden of the sea moved to oblige him. "Luc-air-ees." Breathing the mutilated form of his name as she neared. Gripping his chin as she so easily managed before to pour the elixir of life down his gullet. "Fool." Releasing him after a stern and wavering gaze of her jewelled gaze. "You liked the dance with death, no?" For death was a tricky mistress, fickle as they came. Yet she did not often let one slip from her grip twice.


PMEmail Poster
^
LUCERYS VELARYON
 Posted: Nov 2 2015, 08:26 PM
Quote Post
Group Icon
19
years old
With a free-loving but hard head on his shoulders, Lucerys has both struggled through the hardships of being a second son and still reveling in the freedoms it allows. While his heart lies with the sea, he has spent many years in the public eye and is no stranger to court life.
from driftmark
played by: shelbs


There was movement, somewhere close, somewhere at least in the same chambers. He considered calling out for Brea again, briefly fearing he had been left alone with no relief to find. Another part of him wondered if he could feel blood seeping from his wound and through the bandages, but the part of him that recognized the scent of burned flesh in his nostrils distracted him long enough as he tried to keep from retching at the smell. Using what little strength he had to lift his head from the pillows again, he scanned the room that had nearly been his death chamber. Still, no one had come, and Lucerys groaned audbily enough that if anyone was somewhere in the apartments with him, they would hear. "Hel-" he began to murmur, his relief practically palpable once Brea finally appeared. A long sigh deflated his sweat-covered chest at the sound of her arrival, his head falling limply back onto the feather-stuffed pillows. "Brea," he sighed in another wave of comfort, closing his heavy eyes for a long moment.

A painful wince twisted his unshaven expression as her fingers clutched his chin, almost feeling the weight of her violet eyes as much as he felt the pressure of her hand around his jaw. He wished he had the strength to resist her, but alas, a prisoner to her brief investigation, Lucerys could only hitch a sharp breath through the clench of his teeth. "Fool." Perhaps. Perhaps that was all he ever was. Or perhaps he could not be blamed. Perhaps the fault lie with the courtesan herself. The young admiral was not one to lie the blame anywhere else but upon himself, however, and he met her disappointed gaze with the hurting one of his own. "I nearly thought the dance finished," he wheezed, flexing his jaw where her fingers had so tightly gripped him. "Pray tell, is Pentos a good place to die?" A masochistic type of smirk touched his dried lips at the thought, even daring to use what little strength he had left to emit a strained, almost hoarse chuckle at himself. At least he still had his humor, or whatever delusional form was left.

"You did not tell me," he continued, struggling to find the depths of his voice, and forcing his vocal chords to remember how to strum the sounds that made his syllables. "You did not tell me tha-" Lucerys winced, fighting back a wave of pain that burned and festered in his bandaged wound. "That they are so quick to rid their own business of its customers." All he had done was leave the wharves in search of more Angels' Ashes. All he had done was perhaps flash too little coin too soon, and had asked too many questions concerning the sale. Was there enough powdered opium to match his gold? Were they attempting to short him, or worse, lie to him altogether? For all Lucerys had known, they could have been trying to sell him a pouch of sugar... and it had been his mistake, clearly, to voice his doubts aloud. Having nearly lost his life for the misstep, the young admiral supposed he'd learned his mistake. At least, he thought, that aching hunger that had driven him to such foolishness was gone now... likely, he realized, from the milk of the poppy she'd forced down his throat. It had done wonders in abating the opium-starved monster within.

"I did not know where to go," he admitted feebly, shifting painfully some on the bed. He could tell he had been lying upon his back, without moving, for quite some time... "so I came here." And she had saved him, if anything. His memories were vague but the wound that kept shooting spirals of pain up his abdomen was enough to make him remember. "Is- is it bad?" He asked tentatively, motioning somewhat to the layers of linen bandages wrapped around his torso. How horrible had the wound been? Would he heal? Were their sutures? Had she actually cauterized his flesh?


PM
^
BREA
 Posted: Nov 22 2015, 01:41 AM
Quote Post
Group Icon
22
years old
A high class courtesan that is often on the arm of very rich and extravagant men, no stranger to parties or the lavish things. Formally known as the Maid of the Sea, and stripped of everything she had. Brea narrowly escaped with her life and as tried to put her past behind her ever since.
from Pentos
played by: oswhinnnn


Chills still ran rampant over her flesh. Rising the gooseflesh across her arms and scattering it across the remainder of her form. She had told herself that it would be the last time she worried over a client. Whatever they did when they were not with her was their own business. Her services should start and end when she decided who walked through the gold studded archway into the lobby downstairs. Perhaps she was like a raven in that way, whenever something was pretty or caught her eye, Brea could not help but bring it home. And each one rubbed off on her, each service she took something away from them, as they took a part of her, Whether it was the way one said a word, or perhaps how they laughed. They all moulded something into her form, Brea had hoped this Lucerys mark would not be his death.

"Pray tell, is Pentos a good place to die?" Golden lined brows drew together, what sort of question was that? "As good as any." There was a careful dullness to her tone. Removing her emotions from it, yet no matter what concentration she placed on the words there was still a trace of confusion lingering among the syllables. "Mainlanders." Dropping his jaw with an easy flex of his fingers, as if shaking the water from her form. Was he under the impression that death was such a simple game? But of course he was, a bitterness rose in his throat. He had been born with everything, death was a fascination for his kind. He had not stared at it in the growing darkness for as long as she could remember. Not felt it lingering in the pits of his stomach when there had been nothing to eat. Not feeling it bite into the soles of his feet when his shoes had worn so thin that there was to shield the calloused flesh and the road. He knew as little of death as he did her language. But could she hate him for it?

Brea had wondered that question since she had stepped into the tepid daylight once more. After however turns of the moons she had spent in that windowless room, she had promised that nothing would open her heart up like that had. Yet here the experience was once more, laying before her and breathing haggardly with a smile painted on his lips. "I did not think you to be so - so" Her forehead crumpling like parchment. What was the word? The word that slipped like oil off a canvas from her tongue. Sighing sharply in frustration. Gambling, the word you want is gambling. "Betting with your life." It was the closest word she could muster to her lips in his tongue. Sighing once more and forcing the heated quality from her tone. She could not be angry at him. Or she should not, for things that were out of his control. Even though he was incredibly stupid, he did not know their ways. Perhaps it was her fault for never outlining that to him.

Where else could he go? He did not know the city, the others had been so surprised that he had made it this far and not had collapsed. Not unlike when her feet had carried her through the streets, pleasing with the closed doors to open their sanctuary to her. She was just glad he had not been met with the unkind fate she had. Leaning close, and drawing the plush of her lips against him. Pressing a soft, and lingering kiss to his chapped and dried lips. "You come here whenever you in need." The soft violet stones of her gaze filled with warmth. "There is always a home for you here." That was how they said it, was it not? Was that not what the sailors wanted? Brea had never really understood what the word meant in his tongue, but when it was said with warmth and compassion she could hardly consider it as a bad thing.

"Not so bad." The courtesan whispered, leaning against his shoulder with a brush of her coloured lips across his jaw. Her fingers moving to the bandages, peeling some back slightly to expose the reddened and angry flesh beneath. "Your skin will wear the pain, but your mind will forget." It would only be for a short time. If he left the Ashes do the work and take away his pain. Then it would be fine in no time at all. "But is that not what all the soldiers want?" Finger tips, as light as a feather, traced across the layers of bandages across his abdomen. "A tale to take home, to tell their wives." Her throaty voice teased, rough from the smoke of the white vapour her kind so loved. yet it never occurred to her that they were better conditioned to handle it than what mainlanders were. Perhaps if she had, she never would have offered it to him in the first place.


PMEmail Poster
^
LUCERYS VELARYON
 Posted: Nov 22 2015, 03:15 AM
Quote Post
Group Icon
19
years old
With a free-loving but hard head on his shoulders, Lucerys has both struggled through the hardships of being a second son and still reveling in the freedoms it allows. While his heart lies with the sea, he has spent many years in the public eye and is no stranger to court life.
from driftmark
played by: shelbs


Betting with his life? Had he done such a thing? He could not discern, not in his current state of mind. He could remember who had done this to him, and he could remember his hunger for the white powdery substance he had come to love. What he could not remember, however, was why he had done it... why he had not simply waited for Brea, or why he had not simply tried rifling through her rooms to find her own personal amount. It was unclear to him, both with pain and milk of the poppy bulking his veins, and he closed his eyes in comfort once the silvery courtesan leaned over him and put a tender kiss to his waiting lips. They were soft where his were dry, and he yearned to kiss her again if only to hydrate the things within him that water could not quench. "There is always a home for you here." Was it true? Lucerys perhaps owed is life to Brea, was it his duty now to stay here with her? Part of him was content with the idea, even excited for it, and he lifted a hand up to the side of her cheek to softly, weakly caress it. His mind was flooded with milk of the poppy, making him dazed and somewhat aloof, and an affectionate smile appeared through it all. It was nothing of the unknown that any form of opium to the admiral certainly made him most... lusty. "So long as you remain the winner," he finally added, referring to her mention of him betting with his own life. Truly, even despite his daze, he knew it was Brea who had saved him. Of the dozens, if not hundreds he passed in the streets, it was the courtesan who spared him.

A grimace rippled through him once she peeled back the layers of his bandages, revealing the ugly and furious wound beneath. It could be worse, he supposed? His breath stuttered in his chest, his flesh wincing away from her touch as she continued her inspection. No doubt it would be an equally ugly scar he would bear for the rest of his life. "The pain I may forget," he replied slowly, gritting his jaw some. "But will I ever feel any less foolish than I do now?" Perhaps it was simply the milk of the poppy that spurned such an uncommon confession. It was unlike Lucerys to admit such things to Brea, but for now, his mind clouded with the very substance that eased him of his pain, he wanted the gods themselves to come down and smite him for his idiocy. He could have been taken from her. He could have died, and Brea could have never found his body. Or Coraly. Or his parents. Or Rhaenna, a voice told him, far in the back of his mind where only shallow pools of opium gathered. "A tale to take home, to tell their wives." Though it hurt, Lucerys could not help the slight laugh that emitted roughly from his chest. "Perhaps," he retorted, his hand having fallen from her face. "If you felt differently about wives, that is." Fighting back another chortle, the wounded admiral instead bore a humored smile, for a moment hiding the pain that plagued the lights in his darkened eyes.

"And," he went on to add, "if I was a soldier." The last thing he felt like was a soldier, much less the Commander of the Seawatch. It was as if the mission his father had sent him on was but a vague memory, nearly a dream, forgotten in the white vapor that Brea had introduced him to. Yet it was the very same white substance that kept him from caring beyond anything other than the room around him, and the woman sitting on the bed beside him, whose hand he brought up back to his mouth for a fond kiss upon her knuckles. Even through the stupor left behind by the poppy, her gentle aromas that coated her skin remained overpowering and he inhaled them deeply through his nostrils. It was the only thing that was familiar to him in this foreign place, in this foreign city, on this foreign continent. "Will you forgive me?" He asked, his lips still moving slowly and affectionately against her slender fingers. Bringing her palm to press against his cheek, Lucerys closed his eyes and sighed, keeping his hand over hers. "Next time, I will be sure to die before I reach you," he jested with another painful laugh, opening his eyes to look up at her. "So I do not bloody the place again. I do recall one of the other women making a mention of that..."

Grunting somewhat, the admiral dropped his hand from hers, if only to plant his forearms against the mattress to try and lift himself further up against the pillows. He winced and cringed every inch of the way, but when he finally had himself sitting up against the headboard of the bed, a long sigh of relief deflated his dampened chest. "Do yo-" he began, catching his breath. Gods, it felt like even his own blood flow was painful as it coursed through his angry wound. "Ashes. Is there any?" His eyes glanced around the room, looking for the long ornate pipe he had become so familiar with, having recognized the subtle signs of its euphoria in Brea's eyes once she'd come to his side. It was in her voice, in the smell of her skin, and on her breath once she'd kissed him. It was enough to make him want to kiss her again and again, if only to taste the opium on her tongue.


PM
^
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options Reply to this topicStart new topicStart Poll