ladystahrk
porcelain ivory steel
❝Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.❞
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"In my culture, death is not the end. it's more of a stepping off point. You reach out with both hands and Bast and Sekhmet, they lead you into a green veld where... you can run forever."
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That was one word. That counts. Thank you, Rosa.
↳ requested by anonymous
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