“It’s your room, Violet.” His eyes track the movement of the brush through my hair, and the way his fingers curl in his lap makes me swallow. Hard. “The room is warded to let in whomever you pull through.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight as I finish another pass with the brush. “And selfishly, me.” I fucking love your hair. If you ever want to bring me to my knees or win an argument, just let it down. I’ll get the point.
Ugh fuckkkkk
