“Show me your true form.” I’ve had a little too much wine, so much that I’m conveniently not thinking about the fact that it’s not real wine at all. I’m not thinking about how warm my face is, how Dorian’s every glance is like a physical touch against shivering skin. “I’d rather not.” “Please?” “You wouldn’t like it.” “You don’t know that.” “You hardly seem to like this form.” “That’s not true. It’s just… too beautiful.
