❝ it is either rot with the living, or rot with the corpses
you so recklessly brought to their demise ¡! ❞
ongoing ༉‧₊˚.
𝘊. 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦 × 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘖𝘊
Oh, how terrible it is to love something death can touch. That kiss enlaced wit...
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The soft sky above, soles upon smooth stones, and clouds caressed with reflected light. Lacy waves in a steady rhythm echo in heart. A breeze brings long-awaited relief to the bones. All whilst birds arc above, playful upon swirling updrafts. The sand is the most gentle hue of gold, almost earthen and muted, the humble star of the scene. The driftwood that comes upon the buoyant waves as tiny rescue boats come and go on the docks, while the fishermen pull their boats across the sand and throw baskets of their catches to their supplier. Then there is the seaweed, that flora of those salty waves, as deeply green as any high summer foliage. There was a stoic calmness to the sun-whitened pier, a promise of taking all weathers in easy stride.
Alas, December has come to grace England with its long-awaited chilly breeze and less-anticipated snowstorms. The heat from Autumn has come to say goodbye, and with the winter season fastly approaching, the more responsibilities and invitations sent to the Delacroix Manor drown the young lady with much stress.
Grand Balls, Business Opportunities, and Marriage Proposals, all flood the mail in the manor in a hoard, however, she'd been bothered to sit on the bench at the Pier, clad in layers of two different winter coats that fell as a pool on the grounds, the bottom soaked wet due to the residual of snow and hail. Vivielle and Miles stood right behind her to her side, clothed in the same robes as her, but only in one layer, as they had been less sensitive to the cold than the young girl was.
