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Summary
His fingers, callused by the humble labors of living, began their gentle pass, tracing each feature with such tenderness that one might have supposed the very heaven had been entrusted unto his hands.
“My,” Pure Vanilla breathed, his voice scarcely louder than the stirring of wind upon still waters. “You’re beautiful.”
Lovingly did his thumbs wander along planes of jaw and cheekbone, ascending toward the arch of a brow before descending once more to brush the curve of an eyelid. Slowly, he gathered beneath his fingertips the likeness of the creature before him. “Beautiful,” he repeated, ever a fool.
And still Shadow Milk remained motionless.
His serpents possessed no such restraint.
One slipped down his temple and coiled about Pure Vanilla’s wrist, tongue flicking at him. Another burrowed into his hair, hissing indignantly about his ears, as though grievously offended that he had thought to bestow such attentions on their master whilst neglecting them so.
“Oh,” Pure Vanilla laughed, and how sweetly did that sound rise beneath the forsaken temple. He stroked the head nestled amongst his hair, his smile ever warmer. “Forgive me. You’re all beautiful, too.”
Series
- Part 8 of All Quill Stories