#wip: aool

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

All of our Lives is out!

Download on my website

The book is available for free, as pdf or epub. As always, the epub contains image descriptions for the illustrations, the pdf does not.

Genre: Cozy dark fantasy Approx. Length: 120.000 words Content warnings: Graphic depictions of violence and rape, sepsis and emergency surgery, minor self-harm, as well as all the unpleasantries implied by the blurb

How far are they willing to go to finally be free?

As children, Ross and Irina were inseparable—rich and poor, nerd and dreamer, the disabled youngest son and the maid’s daughter ordered to assist him with his daily tasks. Now that they are grown up, his hopes of moving out and taking her away from his cold-hearted parents are shattered when she is arrested after killing his brother.

Half a year later, he is kidnapped for a ransom he knows won't be paid, and in the derelict building where the bandits leave him to die, he discovers a terrified, emaciated figure. Irina is alive; barely. Months of isolation and abuse have changed her, but Ross refuses to lose her again. If that means staying by her side while she embarks on a bloody path of revenge, so be it.

Art, moodboard, detailed warnings and more in the WIP intro.

A small note regarding the rape and surgery warnings, if that's a concern. Contains spoilers.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

[ID: Six images arranged in a mood board. 1) A dark and dirty, derelict dungeon cell with a small window near the ceiling. 2) Three old, massive iron keys on a keyring, lying on folded linen. 3) A barred door made from massive wood planks with fittings for an equally massive latch. 4) Closeup of a person holding an iron chain in dirty hands. 5) Closeup of hands tight together with a massive iron chain wrapped around the wrists. 6) A dark, derelict vault, lit by small beacons of firelight. End ID]

Medieval dungeon whump aesthetic for anonymous

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

All of our Lives

[ID: A banner showing two children walking hand in hand away from the reader through a forest of barren young trees. The title All of our Lives is written across in a pale yellow to bright blue gradient. All other images are decorative dividers with a row of blue flowers. End ID]

Every time darkness reached for her with the lingering promise that her pain could be over, she let his voice and touch cradle her. The pain was worth it, if only she could stay with him a moment longer, could let his embrace displace one more memory of endless hours alone under the earth.

📖 Synopsis

How far are they willing to go to finally be free?

As children, Ross and Irina were inseparable—rich and poor, nerd and dreamer, the disabled youngest son and the maid’s daughter ordered to assist him with his daily tasks. Now that they are grown up, his hopes of moving out and taking her away from his cold-hearted parents are shattered when she is arrested after killing his brother.

Half a year later, he is kidnapped for a ransom he knows won't be paid, and in the derelict building where the bandits leave him to die, he discovers a terrified, emaciated figure. Irina is alive; barely. Months of isolation and abuse have changed her, but Ross refuses to lose her again. If that means staying by her side while she embarks on a bloody path of revenge, so be it.

📖 About

Genre: Cozy dark fantasy POV: Third person past tense, dual POV Wordcount: 120k Status: finished

Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence and rape, captivity, starvation and isolation, minor self-harm, forced to watch, infection, field surgery (hysterectomy), childhood abuse and ableism, sexual coercion, various gruesome murders (they're the bad guys)

Vibes: a cold, dark dungeon cell / chosen family / “please don’t kill her” / loneliness / a tin box filled with fruit cake / revenge / “i’m sorry” / hands desperately reaching for the other / a bowl full of oats / scars and trauma / “please stay” / unexpected kindness / bloody chains / “as long as we have each other”

📖 Bonus content

Moodboard — Picrew — Playlist

Artwork

Home at last

So close yet so far

It's not her blood

Done with this shit

Thirty-nine

Chapters

Coming home

📖 Cast

Irina Vaughn

When she was five, her mother took the position as a rich family's maid, and Irina became the de-facto caretaker for their disabled son. At only one year apart, they quickly became best friends, too.

Ross DeWitt

Hoping to finally prove his worth to his family, Ross tried so hard to graduate with honors—only for his life to fall apart at the last moment. What good is a degree if the person he wanted to spend his life with is dead?

Lichen

While they have a big heart, everyone who comes looking for their services as a herbalist needs to make it past their gruff exterior and eccentric behavior. They enjoy life as a hermit, liking plants more than people.

📖 Tags & More

So far, I have been dumping everything into the tag: #wip: aool

It's out now!! You can download it here.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Coming Home

All of our Lives

The book isn't out yet, so I keep it to things that happened before - in this case, roughly 6 months before the start of the novel!

Prompt: Day 12 - Coming Home (Prompt list)

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

WIP Intro

Ross peeked out behind the curtain of the carriage window, watching each passing tree and counting the minutes until he would be home. Not merely a visit for the holidays or in summer, but finally, truly home. He missed his room and his books and his bed, but most of all—most of all he missed Irina.

He had worried about her since the moment he had left for school, but the last time he had been home, a few days over Summer’s Soul, she had looked worse than ever. Between hollow eyes and pale skin, he hadn’t seen her smile even once. He knew her mother was sick, and that his parents, instead of hiring more help, worked her to the bone. Only a few more months, he had promised her, then he would do anything in his power to get her out.

He needed the real world experience, he would say. He needed to stand on his own feet, he would say. He needed some help with his household tasks, and someone familiar with his needs, he would say. He needed to pay her a proper wage and make sure she got enough food and rest instead of treating her like property.

He would not say that.

When the mansion came into view, he slipped his crutch over his forearm, eager to waste as little time as possible. Only the good manners instilled in him were the reason he didn’t open the door himself the moment the carriage came to a halt but waited for the driver to do so. 

The man assisted him down the two steps, and he would also take care of Ross’ luggage, so Ross walked along the path to the entrance. As every year since he had left for school, he had missed late summer, but parts of the garden were still in full bloom. Hedges were carefully trimmed, leaves raked up the moment they touched the ground. Everything always had to be spotless, ready to impress at any given moment.

Ross knew he rarely fulfilled those expectations, but perhaps this time, he could be lucky. He greeted the porter and stepped into the entrance hall, finding himself face to face with his mother.

“You’re later than expected.” She looked him up and down, but didn’t seem to be able to find something to criticize, other than his general existence, he guessed. “Refresh yourself,” she said anyway. “You will be expected for dinner.”

Ross merely inclined his head. She clearly was in a mood, and since there was a chance that anything he said could be taken as offense, it was better not to speak at all. When the door opened behind him and the driver dragged his luggage inside, Ross showed him the way up the stairs and into his room.

His room! He told the driver where to put his bags, and the moment the man closed the door behind him, Ross let himself drop onto his bed—his huge, soft, comfortable, warm bed. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of home.

He hadn’t exactly expected a welcome party, but the fact that no one seemed to care that he was back stung a bit. Well; he was sure Irina cared, but for all he knew, his parents had her slaving away in some hidden corner, doing the job of two people alone. The sooner he would be able to talk to them, the better.

He opened the smaller of his bags and pulled out the leather-bound folder. Perhaps, for once, he deserved a bit of goodwill. Not only had he done what they had expected of him—he had excelled at it. Graduating with honors wasn’t something to be taken for granted even among those with private tutors, a benefit he decidedly had never had. His father had hinted that after his graduation, he might consider giving his youngest son some responsibilities. Responsibilities Brad didn’t want, for sure, but Ross didn’t care. Whatever got him out of the house and let him prove that he was good for more than staying out of sight.

Slowly, carrying every object one by one, he put away his most important belongings: the folder in one drawer of his desk, his reading glasses in another, the bottle with his pills on the nightstand, and his notebook next to it. It was a good feeling reclaiming his room.

A knock on the door made him spin around with a huge grin on his face, which faltered as he realized that the rhythm had been off. While he tried to stand up straight and gather his voice, the door opened and a young woman he had never seen before entered. Whatever had happened to waiting until one was called in?

“Young mister DeWitt.” She curtsied, which was as unnecessary as it was uncomfortable. “I’m the new maid.”

Oh. So his parents had hired more help. That was nice, he guessed, and it took away his scruples as he said:

“Would you fetch Irina, please? I’m tired from the journey, and I would like some help unpacking and refreshing myself.”

He didn’t strictly need her help, but as always after the hours-long carriage ride, he was pretty sore, and if he could get her away from her chores a few hours earlier, all the better. The maid looked at him with eyes as big as saucers, and Ross forced himself to smile. It had been a while since the last time someone had been rude enough to stare at him like that, but there was no point in antagonizing the new personnel first thing after his arrival.

“I apologize,” he said, even though he wasn’t the one who had something to apologize for. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Ross. When I am at home, Irina is my personal maid, because she, well.” He raised his crutch a bit. “Knows what I need.”

The maid nodded hastily and was out the door as quickly as she had entered. Would have been nice to know her name, but skittish as she was, she probably didn’t think it was important to him. He would talk to her once he had settled in and make sure she knew that he wasn’t like his parents. 

His parents, who expected him for dinner. He walked to his wardrobe and inspected his clothes, hoping to find something fitting for the occasion. The ones he had taken with him to school would have to be laundered or at least steamed before they would be adequate.

This time, the door opened without warning. Ross whirled around, gaze falling upon the young woman who entered. Her dark blonde hair was smooth as silk, her eyes of the same hue as his, and her lips pressed together as if they had never learned how to smile.

“Mel?” Something was off. His sister never came to him; she barely ever acknowledged him. “Why are you— Where’s Irina?”

“Our parents didn’t want to tell you while you were focusing on your finals, but that—” She broke off and cleared her throat before she added, “Irina is gone.”

Ross could only stare at her. Surely, he had understood her wrong?

“What?” he croaked. “Why?”

He hated how the sudden anxiousness made his throat tight and turned his voice into a squeal, just like he hated the expression of disgust flicking across his sister’s face.

“She killed Brad,” Mel said, in a tone that was entirely inadequate for relaying such news. “Two weeks ago. The next day, I brought her to town to be arrested. The new girl was hired to take over her duties, but our parents think it’s about time you make do without extra help.”

Arrested. The word echoed in Ross’ mind, over and over and over again. Arrested. In town, because this place barely deserved to be called a village, and there hadn’t been a prison in decades, and the next place big enough to have a judge able to deal with such things was more than an hour away.

The room around Ross blurred. Two weeks ago. She was already gone. It wouldn’t have been a trial. Not when she had killed the eldest son of the richest family in the region. No matter what her reason—and she must have had a reason, she must have—no one would have listened to her. It would have been a farce followed by an execution. 

Alone. Always alone. Dragged away to face trial and conviction alone. Dragged out to be killed alone. Had she been scared? She must have been, and he hadn’t been there for her. Hadn’t been able to speak for her, to beg for her life, and now it didn’t matter what had happened. Now it was too late. 

They had probably buried her in an unmarked grave by now. Under the earth, alone and cold, so cold, and he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye, hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her how much he loved her. His little Ivy. She had always been so warm and so soft and so kind, but the memory faded as his mind conjured up the image of her cold and stiff body, decaying in her lonely grave. The emptiness in his heart grew until it threatened to choke him.

A touch on his arm made him lash out, shoving the person away so hard, he slid off the bed himself. When had he sat down on it? Why couldn’t he remember? He pressed his back against the mattress, but it didn’t help against the sick feeling in his stomach. 

Mumbled voices that didn’t make sense. Not enough air in the room as the walls closed in on him. He wanted to walk out the door, out the house, walk and walk and walk until he found her grave, until he could be as close to her as the earth allowed it, just so she wasn’t alone. His body didn’t even allow him to crawl back into his bed, stiff and trembling and unwilling to listen to him. 

The light faded while he cried, feeling so numb, he didn’t know where his body ended and where the floor began. Cold crept through his clothes and through his skin until it settled in his very bones, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, lacking both willpower and strength to get his limbs to obey. 

When pale morning light crept through the curtains, Ross stared blearily at the mattress in front of his face. His tears had long dried up, leaving his eyelids sticky and his mouth dry and fuzzy. Everything hurt. Irina would have scolded him for sitting like this the whole night before helping him up and using her warm hands to ease the pain of cramped muscles. The thought was enough to make him sob again, pressing his forehead against the mattress.

He would never hear her voice again. Never feel her touch again. She was gone and cold and alone, and he was still here and cold and alone, and he didn’t know how he was ever going to do anything but cry again.

A knock on the door. A pause. Another knock.

Ross didn’t bother to answer. Irina had always knocked in a way that was hers alone, just like so many things had been theirs alone. Their little jokes. Their shared memories. The trust between them. He had never trusted another person like he had trusted her. He never would, either.

Apparently unwilling to wait any longer, the person outside pushed the door open. It was the new maid. She was clearly uncomfortable, but apparently not enough to leave him the fuck alone. Ross tried to scowl, but he was too tired to control his face. He probably looked like shit, still wearing the clothes he had arrived in and sitting on the floor because he couldn’t scrape together the energy to get up.

“Young mister,” she said in a tone so low, it was almost a whisper. “I’m here to collect your laundry.”

Quietly, the door closed behind her. She shuffled closer, clutching the hem of her apron. In front of him, she stopped, crouching down as she extended her arm.

“Do you need—”

“Don’t. Touch,” he snapped. “Take it. Go.”

He was shaking again, the fingers of his right hand clutching the bed as he swallowed a groan. Everything hurt, his heart and his body, and while it wasn’t the woman’s fault, his broken heart didn’t care who it lashed out at. As far as he was concerned, his family had killed his one and only friend. Every possible future had included her. Never, not even once, had he considered a life without her.

“Your father…” the maid started.

Can go fuck himself, Ross wanted to say, but it was probably for the better that his rebellious tongue turned it into unintelligible noise.

“Tomorrow evening is the harvest banquet. He expects the. The usual guests?” she said in a questioning tone, obviously hoping she wouldn’t have to elaborate. “He wishes you to attend.”

It had to be a joke. Ross’ laugh turned into a sob, but he tried to keep it together, not willing to fall apart in front of this stranger.

“I’m not really supposed to, but.” Her hand hovered close, but she didn’t try to touch him. “If you need help?”

“No.” Ross’ tone was still sharp, but no longer as hostile as before. “I will be. There.” He moved his jaw from side to side. Even those muscles hurt, tense as he had been. As he still was. “My laundry. I have not yet unpacked. My bag.”

He watched her gather his clothes and retreat, and only when the door had closed behind her did he stir. Unfolding his limbs made him groan, but he needed to go to the bathroom, and he needed to take his pills. And then he needed to figure out what the fuck he was going to do.

He didn’t want to attend this dinner. If he was honest, he didn’t want to see his family at all. Fuck, how could his father still think about holding the banquet as if nothing had happened? The man didn’t give a fuck about his servants, but he had lost his son—a fact that hadn’t yet settled in Ross’ mind. He should have mourned Brad’s death, he really should have, but they had never been particularly close, and Ross knew it in his heart that this asshole had done something terrible to drive Irina to deadly violence.

No one was going to tell him though, were they? Perhaps if he was lucky. If enough wine flowed to loosen Greer’s lips. The possibility wasn’t enticing enough to make sitting through a whole dinner worth it, quiet and obedient like a slightly defective doll no one was supposed to look too closely at. But what other choice did he have? For now, he was still dependent on his family, not that the thought of getting disowned held much of a threat.

Ross groaned as he pulled himself up onto his bed, the fingers of his left hand clutched to a painful fist as he grabbed blindly at the bottle on his nightstand with his right. He would have to play along until he figured out what to do, because there was one thing he knew for sure: Irina wouldn’t have wanted him to give up.

I don't wanna use the MCD tag, because she's the second protagonist of the novel, so she's obviously not dead. Not saying she's doing well, but she's alive! 😅

Anyway, if you wanna see more of my guy(s), the book's gonna be out on May 15 :D

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

[ID: White text over a very desaturated photo of a rainbow across the sky. The text reads: “I forgot how colors look,” she whispered. “It was always so dark. Even blood wasn’t red when—” She snapped her mouth shut and grabbed her forearm, where under her ratty coat bandages were wrapped around sore skin. “Sorry.” End ID]

:(

WIP Intro

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Once again I mourn the lack of a healer in this story.

Can't break shit. Can't dislocate shit. Can't lose too much blood. Can't just give her a kidney infection without a plan b.

Like, come on, I just wanna have some fun :/

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Bullet Point Tag

I was tagged by @willtheweaver for this :D

And I'll tag, if you feel like doing it: @cc-writes-stuff and @writingphoenix and an open tag!

This one's for All of our Lives:

Aw they're so cute

She's dead

No, she's not

Ow

Oh gods, now she's dead

Thank the gods, she's not

… or?

Well THOSE are really dead

More ow

Oats

Murder (stabby edition)

I'm sure NOW she's dead

Spoiler, she's not

Super duper ow

More oats

More murder (poison edition)

Even more murder (accident edition)

A bit ow

The kids fight

No murder

Is he dead???

The kids make up

Oats, but with flavor

The real whump is trying to find a job and affordable housing

Also, the panic attacks

The End

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Word Find Tag

I was tagged, a while ago, by @cee-grice <3

Rules: Search for the given words in your story. If your story doesn't have a word, you can use a variation on it or a word with a similar meaning.

My words: suspicion, moonlight, ignore, skin, and whisper

And obviously I'm gonna do that for All of our Lives, since it's gonna be released TOMORROW aaaaaaaaaa

Suspicion

“What’s that?” “Starburst.” They inhaled deeply before offering the smoking cylinder of rolled up leaves to Ross. “Want some?” Ross eyed the thing with suspicion. “I don’t know how to use… smoke? That.”

Moonlight

She gave the door one last shove and stepped inside, clutching an unwieldy bundle to her chest. Her feet dragged over the floor, her shoulders shook. Under smears of dried blood, she was pale as moonlight.

Ignore

Ross’ right hand squeezed the crutch while the fingers of his left hand twitched. He pushed his arm down, hopefully out of sight. He was too nervous, the awareness of how much there was at stake for him impossible to ignore. His muscles tensed up as if he hadn’t taken his morning pills, and he had to coax his throat and tongue to form the words one by one. “I’m here to apply. For a job offer. The listing said you’re looking for an Acc. Accoun. Tant.”

Skin

“I forgot how colors look,” she whispered. “It was always so dark. Even blood wasn’t red when—” She snapped her mouth shut and grabbed her forearm, where under her ratty coat bandages were wrapped around sore skin. “Sorry.”

Whisper

“Forget about the fruit cake,” Ross whispered close to her ear. “We’ll find a baker who can make us oats fish pie.”

And I am gonna tag, if you feel like doing it, @winterandwords @the-flowing-river and @willtheweaver and an open tag!

Your words: offer, drag, push and forget

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Word Find Tag

I was tagged by @winterandwords <3

Rules: Search for the given words in your story. If your story doesn't have a word, you can use a variation on it or a word with a similar meaning.

My words: everything, anything, something, and nothing

Every single one of those words had over 100 hits, but it's one day before release and I am NOT doing another pass :P So, obviously, those are from All of our Lives.

Everything

And the city! Irina couldn’t stop staring. Endless roads paved with flat, smooth stones that glimmered in the sunlight. Houses upon houses upon houses, more than she could count, more than she could have ever imagined. Sprawling parks in which bushes and trees were turning to flaming colors and the last late flowers bloomed. Storm drains and street signs and merchant stalls and fluttering banners and over everything a constant hum like she had stepped into a giant, human-made beehive.

Anything

“Do you need—” “I need a moment.” She dodged his attempt to reach for her, and she hated herself for the hurt flicking across his face. He didn’t say anything; he never did. Not when she pulled back, not when she pushed him away, not when she lashed out. And every time, she vowed it wouldn’t happen again, and every time, it did happen again.

Something

With trembling fingers, Ross picked up something he couldn’t identify. He turned it in his hand, and the object took shape. A humanoid figure, like a little doll, made from scraps of fabric and… was that hair? He dropped the thing as quickly as if it had burned him.

Nothing

“And we need to talk about what we’ll do now.” His words seemed to suck all warmth out of the air. Irina shivered, all too aware that the peace was treacherous. The hope was treacherous. She had nothing, belonged nowhere; wherever he would be going, she wouldn’t be able to follow him.

And I am gonna tag, if you feel like doing it, @whumpacabra and @writingphoenix and @whumpinthepot and an open tag (digging deep into the "who have I not tagged in ages file" feel free to ignore if you don't want to do tag games anymore/at the moment)

Your words: blurry, brilliant, blind and broken

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

[ID: White text over the closeup, dark photo of a sad looking person with hair falling into their face. The text reads: "I can't lose you again." And she didn't want to leave him again, but she didn't think she was going to get much of a choice in that matter. End ID]

Things are looking rather bleak :)

WIP Intro

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Dialogue Tag

In the decade between xmas and the new year, I was tagged by @winterandwords and since I'm currently editing All of our lives, I'm gonna grab some dialogue from the chapter I am at.

“How do you feel?” “I killed Greer.” “Okay.” That was not what— fuck. He needed to be more awake for this kind of talk. He pushed himself up. “Okay. Why? No. Wait. Can we get breakfast first? At least some tea.”

Priorities!

I want some tea now.

I'm tagging, only if you feel like doing it, uhhhh.... let's see who's around. Perhaps @quietly-by-myself and @whumpinthepot and an open tag!

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Six Sentence Sunday

I was tagged by @oh-no-another-idea <3

I finished another post-AooL bonus chapter, so let's grab "six" sentences from there.

 “Doesn’t mean I can’t look. She had pretty nice…” He cleared his throat. “Uhm.” “Cabbages?” Irina offered, muffled by the pillow. Her voice was still husky, but there was an undertone of amusement behind it. “Yeah. Cabbages.” Ross grinned. “Not that I’m picky. Cabbages. Zucchinis. Lettu— ow.” He pushed the pillow off his face. “Rude.”

Not really six, but who cares :p When half of the "sentences" are 1 word, that's boring. At least it's actually on a Sunday, so that's 50% cleared!

I'm gonna tag, if you feel like doing it, @sarandipitywrites and @winterandwords and an open tag :)

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Word Find Tag

I was tagged by @winterandwords a while ago *cough* but here we go. Those are from All of our Lives, because what else would I be using.

My words are call, fall, tall, and small

Call

“I need to clean her up, but first, I need to wash my hands and…” They peered down their front. Blood splatters adorned their sweater, and even though they had rolled up their sleeves, they were soaked with blood. “The rest of me. I’ll grab one of those shirts for myself, if that’s all right. Can you watch over her for a moment longer? Call for me if anything changes, okay? I’ll be quick.”

Fall

Something glinted in the grass. When Ross probed the ground with his stick, he found a coin, half buried in the soil. Not any coin—a gold coin. He pondered how to pick it up. His knees were wobbly in a way that had nothing to do with his condition, and he didn’t like the idea of letting go of his stick and risking a fall face-first into a decaying body.

Tall

Outside, fog blanketed the city and drowned out all color. Irina buried her nose deeper in her scarf. Neither of them spoke much as they followed the streets into the city center, even the sound of his crutch on the pavement somehow muffled by the weather. The roads became wider, the houses taller and more expensive looking, until they found themselves at the address he had noted down.

Small

Thanks, I have 96 occurences, I think I need to do an editing pass here. This one for example? I don't think we need it.

Ross wiped at his eyes. Outside, everything was still quiet, so he grabbed the backpack and pried open the clasps. A pile of fabric greeted him, various pieces of clothing filling the space between boxes, bottles, and books. As he sorted through the things, he realized that Irina had brought so much more than the small pills that helped his muscles relax.

I'm gonna gently tag @the-inkwell-variable and @tragicheirs and an open tag.

If you feel like doing it, your words are

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

[ID: White text over a very dark picture of a woman sleeping. The text reads: He turned around one last time, watching her tiny frame buried under layers and layers of blankets. His heart felt like it was breaking in half as he pulled the door closed behind him, not knowing whether she would still be alive when he came back. End ID]

She better be²

WIP Intro

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All of our Lives: Playlist

If mp3 files could get scratches, those would be scratched to hell and back after the last few months. As always, I can't do vibes alone, so I put them in the order as they match the story.

Too soon / Orden Ogan

Unbroken / Beyond the Black

Follow you down / Aviators

Wings of Twilight / Arion

Rise Against the World / Fallen Sanctuary

Melancholy Angel / Visions of Atlantis

Always will be / Hammerfall

You are the Reason / Calum Scott & Leona Lewis

Darkest Hour / Hurts

Stay a Little While / Amaranthe

Here’s the link to the playlist: Spotify

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

[ID: White text over a closeup picture of a sleeping person under a blanket. The text reads: Perhaps she could sleep a bit longer. Ignore the pain a bit longer. It was the kind of pain that lingered in the background, waiting for a too-rash movement to flare up, and she wasn’t keen on finding out how bad it was going to be. End ID]

Bad

WIP Intro