sprialglimmer
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The café smells like burnt espresso and something softer—something that lingers.
Pierrot lingers too.
He watches. He stays. He learns the shape of your life until it fits around him like it was always meant to.
The town whispers about the circus.
About what they are. What they do.You don’t listen.
You only notice how gently he holds you.
Somewhere beyond the warmth of your apartment, plans are already being made—
sharp, quiet, and inevitable.