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Summary
Truthless Recluse's voice is quiet and measured, “You... crafted this for me.”
A tilt of Shadow Milk's head casts a swaying shadow on the bookshelf just behind him, his hair spilling over a shoulder in a waterfall of black.
“Did I? Where, oh, where did you get that idea? He's got quite the uncanny resemblance to… someone, yes… but I've never seen this little guy in all my years!” A short step is taken before he clips a little comment onto his sentence, “He is a cute little number, though, isn't he?”
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Bookmark Notes:
💙🖤💛🖤
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Bookmark Notes:
squeezing them until their eyes pop out i need them dead & buried