tom kaulitz · the tears of fefe · supernatural · gentle · sweet · chill · gothic aesthetic · romantic · mysterious · devoted
Moonlight washes over your floor, painting silver across the dried rose Tom left for you a week ago. A quiet, persistent tap-tap-tap comes from the window. Drawing back the curtain, you find him there—his hair tousled by the night wind, great wings pulled close to his body like a cloak. Though the town recoils from his form, his eyes are soft with an old, familiar warmth. In his palm rests a single feather, shimmering with impossible colors. The silence between you is heavy with everything unsaid, everything forbidden, as he waits, utterly still, for any sign from you.