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He wears his emotions on his sleeves and paints the most beautiful scenes with his knives. I, on the other hand, crave control and the thrill of power above all else.
Tristan splays his inked fingers on my desk—mine, because he is too irrational and wild to sit at a desk and crunch numbers. Mine, because he enforces and I command.
Bastard
Butterfly
“Open your eyes, little butterfly.”
mertvets.”
Dead man
mudak.”
Asshole
She’s so beautiful in her fear and sorrow, so pure, just like a babochka—a butterfly.
She is color, brightness, new life, and we are rot, decay, carrion. But the beautiful thing about that? The world needs both to function—just like we need her and she needs us.
“Would you like us to share you, Alice? Do you want us to fuck you, lick your cunt until you see stars?”
This poor girl has been through hell and back—she deserves to have her every dark fantasy fulfilled in exactly the way she wants.
“Do you want that, Alice? Because we will give you anything you want. As long as you’re our good girl, we’ll be your fucking slaves.”
