THE WICKED ONE | NOEL.

𝖭𝖤𝖦𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤 𝖳𝖶𝖮

"𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾,
𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆."

𝗃𝖺𝗇𝗎𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝟦𝗍𝗁, 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟧:
𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗌, 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾.

𝟧:𝟧𝟢 𝖠𝖬

Iris stepped off the jet with a blanket held securely in her hands, the air was different and warm: fresh and welcoming. She takes in a deep breath and shuts her eyes, they were still aching after all that crying she did in Dmitri's chest. He kept her in his arms for the entire flight: it was the prime definition of not knowing what one is doing but, it feels right. Iris's heels step on the concrete, she smiles gently at the older man standing afar. He begins to talk in, what she expected, French. She was hoping Dmitri would come out soon because she never learned any other languages, that was all in D's field.

"Bonjour, monsieur." Iris watches him walk down the steps, her face was overflowing with awe as they had a full-blown conversation. The words flowed beautifully from his lips, the man leads them to a black Cadillac. "You good?" Dmitri stares back at Iris as the chauffeur puts his duffle bag in the trunk.