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Joyously grinning as George claps; smiling even as the ghost spit the sliver out of his mouth and back into the earth where it belonged. Covering it for good measure so George would never have to think of it again.
A nice sentiment, but George’s thoughts on the splinter were long gone, replaced with the feeling of gentle lips on his time-roughed hands. The former king turns red at the thought of reliving that again, looping in his mind like a paradox.
George decides to go on a picnic and Ghostbur accompanies him.
**READ MY WORK "HOLDING A CROWN WHICH HAS DRIED BLOOD ON IT" BEFORE THIS ONE PLEASE! IT HAS CONTEXT!**
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