“Dorian, I know you’re cross with me,” she began. “Today was quite a victory, and I’d like to celebrate it as friends.” She came to a stop behind him. Close. Too close. “Tell me what I’ve done? What may I do to put things right between us?” She could stop torturing him in that fucking dress, for one. She could cease smelling like lilac water and springtime. She could cease being the voice in his head, encouraging his repressed humanity to take root.
