` * RODERICH : THE BLOOD OF THE COVENANT .
❛ OH , YOU’RE WRETCHED. on what accusations do you dare accuse me of such belligerence against your state ? my dear , if i am to remember our shared past correctly , it was you who taught others of abandonment. ❜ falsified simper ‘pon gentle lips. O ‘ WHAT GAMES WE PLAY . THE TONGUE IS THINE SWORD . fingertips linger on glasses of champagne reminiscent of celebration. but this era has come & gone. what are you now but old fools ? cast your glance elsewhere. remember your place / remember your place. it is almost whispered through the hall , such tensions & miseries of false power. & so fingertips extend WORDS ECHO TO HER ALONE . voice hidden within the tresses of her ebon hair. ❛ i've the feeling that our governments would like a show of friendship. shall we appease them ? ❜
&. ◞ ✦ ° ( @zurichs )
SMIRK , SCOFF , GLANCE thrown sidelong at a materialized memory . hair held in place by countless pins , dress hugging body body like a second skin - yet still EFFORTLESS . voice HONEYED , rings and bracelets glint in fractured light , decadent , a picture of affluence . ‘ what , is that supposed to hurt my feelings ? i’ve been called much worse than WRETCHED . and as i recall , you are the one with the fatherless son . ’ looks out across the party , catches the eye of a man representing her country , urging and desperate , flickering between the two . ‘ this certainly is a unique new form of torture . ’ but she’s abandoning a flute of champagne on a table next to her , extending a hand for him to take . ‘ best to get it over with . ’
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