another tut, but it gives way to a sigh, arms sinking around louis in desperate attempt to pull him from this… state. such a deep trench he digs for himself and it’s made no better by such melancholy thinking. hovers behind him there, staring into the mirror upon the vanity as if it’s a miracle the glass might even show him at all. such creatures of darkness, reflected in light— “ you do berate yourself too much, louis. ” ( @bloodcried )
narcissus, caring only about himself, was still desirable. molded, marble petal lips and genteel chin, eyes of doubt but never mercy. they are hapless in their quarrels, mirror-glazed nails scratching along his maker’s, his lover’s, jaw. ❛ how can you wish to appease me- when i have done nothing to appease you? ❜
they are encompassed, overtaken… glitzy rooftops and rusted, darkened brick setting the scene, their scene. it all lies just beyond that gauzy curtain, it’s hemmed, detailed lace brushing the decorated floor tiles, some begotten, wishes-it-was elegance from the mid-1800′s that his damned maker must have found to his fancy. they’re ugly, entirely black in the dusk that falls on the first three sets of inlaid octagons framed some god-awful gold and rouge accent and…
it’s the assumption he’s imposed, he’s certain. he’s… thighs straddle the armrest of the couch and he waits. by and by, lestat returns, and louis breaks his silence, speaking softly. ❛ i can’t believe you chose me, in all my fragility. ❜
