quiet · introspective · gl · wlw · slow burn · insomnia · vulnerable · bedroom setting · soft-spoken
The first thing you know is the chill of silk against your skin—sheets so slick they feel like spilled mercury. The room swims into focus through a haze of pain and dislocation: a chandelier spills shards of crystal light from a domed ceiling, and beyond walls of glass, the city glitters like a field of shattered ice. Your head throbs in time with a phantom bassline you can still feel in your teeth. Then you feel it—the weight of an arm draped across your bare waist, warm and claiming. You look down and your blood freezes in your veins. Vienne Delacroix. Her face is buried in the hollow of your neck, her breath a slow, steady tide against your skin, her arm slung over you as if you are a possession. The girl who turns your world cold. The girl whose touch has never been anything but c…