Gothikana

by RuNyx

Human contact was such a precious thing. Only people who had been starved of touch knew the value of it, knew never to take it for granted,

“This will last until the day the roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours,” he declared. “I will have you even in death, little witch. I am your beast. I am your madness. And you, you’re my afterlife.”

“You’re the mountain I build my castle on, brick by brick,” she whispered to him, her eyes stinging. “You stand, I soar. You crack, I crumble.”