4 Bookmarks
List of Bookmarks
-
Tags
Summary
The music emerged heavy and melancholic, a rhythm of echoey percussion that seemed to vibrate directly through the stone.
Perona stood up. The fragile, frivolous persona shifted; she began to move to the slow beat, swaying alone, spinning her black-and-red parasol between her fingers. Her heavy skirts brushed against the eroded epitaphs. She danced with the fog, an absurd, vivid phantom twirling in a dead world.
Slowly, her steps brought her directly in front of Mihawk. She planted the brass tip of her parasol against his chest, her large eyes shining with a defiance that barely veiled a desperate, quiet vulnerability.
"I bet a big, terrifying swordsman like you has feet made of lead," she provoked softly, her voice barely carrying over the music. "You wouldn't know how to dance if your precious Yoru depended on it."
Mihawk did not answer immediately. He drained his goblet, set it down on the tombstone beside the teapot, and stepped away from the trunk of the willow. His towering frame subsumed her light, casting a long shadow over her small figure.
"Footwork is the foundation of all swordsmanship, girl," he said plainly, stepping into her space.
-
Bookmark Tags:
-
Bookmark Notes:
在墓地跳舞非常有哥特夫妻的感觉