leborne

   ⠀ID:  ⟮ @lafaeys ⟯ 
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            you’re cruel and cold when you’re outside, and yet under the veils of these rooms at night, you’re fevered with love and torment.     *the words escape her as she draws back, her fingertips lingering against his cheeks. she doesn’t realize her own cheek has been stained until she brushes it with her fingers and feels the warmth of her tears. the strain in his voice carries so much pain that, for a fleeting moment, she forgets herself completely. quickly, she wipes her face with the back of her hand before reaching for her notebook on the floor. she needs to leave. she needs to put as much distance between them as possible before he stirs, and she gives herself away. annette turns slowly, only to freeze where she stands.*

   ⠀ID:  ⟮ @lafaeys ⟯ 
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            *everyone had secrets in old hackney. everyone, and this was something she believed strongly enough to know. and this? this was her secret. she recognized the sound of his voice merely by the strained gravel of it. the pain latched onto her so fiercely that her own heart ached. annette was on her knees, level with the couch before she knew it, lowering her notebook to the floor. she touched his cheek, exactly the way it had been written in the letters. she knew she should not have touched him, especially when the name on his lips was not hers. a pang of jealousy lit inside her, and she swallowed the painful lump in her throat. ah, what a thing it was to be loved like this. to be cherished. to be yearned for. her eyes misted, recalling her own painful years of heartbreak, an unrequited love. was it the same pain? she wondered if he suffered from the same affliction. though, she already knew the answer. she could not help but envy that he still loved her like this, still burned for her like this.*     i’m here, shhh.
            
            *slowly, she lifts her hand and caresses his chiseled face. the bridge of his straight nose, the soft prickle of his growing stubble, and the plush softness of his lips. they are softer than she ever imagines. as if drawn by something she can neither name nor resist, she leans closer. and closer, until the shape of his lips rests beneath the glow of the moonlight. the quiet outline of them unravels the last of her restraint, and to ease the pain she hears in him, she gently presses her own lips to his. it feels like two clouds meeting, impossibly soft, quietly mending. annette has never known the kiss of a man, nor what it is like to be held or loved. but more than anything, she realizes then and there that she has craved this all along. slowly, she pulls away before pressing a featherlight kiss to the bridge of his nose. she can only hope it eases whatever haunts him, even if she is not miri. she is only \annette.\*    

   you  refuse  to  accept  it.  that  is  not  wise—  turning  a  blind  eye  to  what  is  coming.  i  have  come  in  advance  to  give  you  time.  time  to  figure  out  where  to  go.  ⁽  she  leaves  the  room  and  he  is  left  standing  there  only  semi  awkwardly  until  she  returns  with  a  book.  a  book  that  looked  like  it  had  been  through  hell,  maybe  even  twice.  as  it  was  laid  out  he  flipped  open  the  cover  and  flipped  through  the  worn  pages  with  a  skillful  eye. despite  her  claims  that  he's  going  to  help  her  he  seems  fixated  on  this  book.  ⁾  where  did  you  get  this?  
            
            @leborne 

     ⠀ID:  ⟮ @featheredgrace ⟯ 
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            *she isn’t sure what is wrong with him. cursed? afflicted? her eyes narrow, searching his face as though the answer might be written somewhere within it.*   then, i refuse to accept it.     *she mutters under her breath. if he cannot take it back, then she will simply make him find a way to reverse it, or better yet, uncover a loophole neither of them has considered. turning on her heel, she disappears into the next room without another word. moments later, she returns with an old, weathered book tucked beneath her arm. its pages are worn with age, filled with forgotten tales, relics, and writings she has never fully understood, as though they are meant for something far older than mankind.*    i’m assuming you’re not in a hurry to leave. because, if what you’re telling me is true, then you’re going to help me figure out how to reverse something that’s already been spoken into existence.

   ⁽  blue  hues  settle  on  annette,  she  got  close  enough  for  him  to  see  the  features  of  her  face  that  someone  would  miss  from  far  away.  it  wasn't  a  curse  he  didn't  speak  it  into  existence  he  hated  seeing  people  dropping  like  flies  when  it  was  apparently  gods  will.  no  he  was  sick  of  it.  ⁾  i cannot  take  it  back.  but  you  can  do  with  the  information  what  you  will.
            
            @leborne 

     ⠀ID:  ⟮ @-L0st_SaN1ty- ⟯ 
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀┈┈┈─
            
            ah, i’m sorry. i didn’t think you’d notice me. please, pardon my lack of manners.     *walking into the room, she lets her gaze wander briefly before finding an empty chair. she settles into it with quiet care, smoothing her hands over her lap for a moment.*    you play beautifully.. or is that too forward of me?

@ernergy 
            
            /  wow the demands- sure in like 50 business days -:)

^ u *

*  W i come back from camping i will reimburse i in rupees ! 

@engird 
            
            / right back at you my man ! 

&.      darn*

&.        gettin’ so dark obsessed over it. 

No.

   ⠀ID:  ⟮ @lafaeys ⟯ 
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            *the stack of documents he hands to her draws a crease between her brows. he sits behind his mahogany desk, several more white folders spread across its polished surface. most of them, she doesn’t understand. perhaps she isn’t meant to. still, the lack of acknowledgment bruises her pride. poppy doesn’t mind, though. she is used to it [..] the silence. clearing her throat, she lets out a soft whistle to distract herself.*   what about miss milena? will she be returning to hackney with us?
            
            *she knows she shouldn’t have asked. it isn’t her business. but part of her has been dying to know. the thing is.. never mind. it is better not to pry at old wounds. her eyes wander to colonel wülfric’s hair, then to the broad span of his shoulders, and finally to his hands. a quiet, wistful sigh escapes her.*   colonel wülfric.. can i have the honour of da—   *she catches herself before the word leaves her tongue.*    being relieved from my duty on the sixth of march? we.. uh, have this charity event, and everyone will be there. i.. i don’t want to be..  
            
            *her voice trails away. poppy swallows. she isn’t afraid of him. that isn’t the problem. the trouble with feelings is that attachment rarely arrives with mercy, and almost never with relief. somewhere between the long hours of training, the endless drills, and the quiet moments she never speaks of, she has grown fond of him.*    forgive me, sir—