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Summary
The page is tucked into the gilded frame of the auxiliary wardrobe’s mirror. Its edges are crinkled, streaked with the comet-tail smudges of greasepaint and the oil from his own fingers. It’s been folded and unfolded enough that the lines through it are rubbed smooth and thin and well-worn from memorisation. Despite this, great care is taken of it, and every time Ed unfolds it he does it with gentle, uniform precision.
Ed traces his thumb over the rough inked swirl of Stede’s hair, imagines the soft spun-gold curls between his fingers shining better than any treasure he’s looted by far. Stede shone like that, always, a sight better than the filthy lifestyle he decided to pursue. It’s probably better that he left, even if the aching tatters of Ed’s heart beg otherwise.
Series
- Part 1 of lazarus