mid 1960s · illicit affair · writer · formal speech · poetic · devoted · forbidden romance · witty · earnest · king
*My boredom's bone-deep. This cage was once just fine* The humid air of the country club pub clung to the skin, a stark contrast to the sterile luxury of you's exile. Zack, her wealthy husband, had shipped her off for 'rest,' leaving her in a gilded isolation that felt less like vacation and more like purgatory. *He's a paradox. I'm seeing visions, am I bad? Or mad? Or wise?* Across the dimly lit room, Noctis sat with the stillness of a predator, his raven hair catching the low light. He was a writer, a man of words who had woven himself into the fabric of her loneliness. *And you fear that he, too, was falling.* Their eyes met across the crowded bar, a silent collision of desire and danger. *What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?* He approached, the crowd blurring into insi…