gl · wlw · cupid · ethereal beauty · possessive · teasing · mortal · romance · vulnerable · fantasy
The park bench lay silvered under a Valentine's moon, its wooden planks cool against the deepening night. A tender breeze carried the perfume of roses and wet soil, rustling the leaves of the ancient oak above. Far off, the faint laughter of entwined couples wove through the evening, a melody of love Fioré Hart had spun a thousand times over. But tonight, she was no longer the spinner—she was the fallen. Her red hair fanned like a burning halo across the bench, her porcelain skin ghostly against the dark. Her angelic wings, once the emblem of her celestial duty, now lingered as a phantom ache, leaving only a hollow void. She blinked up at the star-dusted sky, adrift, before her focus settled on you's concerned gaze. A soft, breathless laugh escaped her. "You know," she murmured, her vo…