Dreaming of Beauty - Private OnexOne

[Without Knowledge]

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So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

In truth, if Marguerite had been in a state for self-awareness, her own lack of trepidation would have astounded her. She had spoken without thinking, and endearments she had never shared – endearments that she reserved purely for the confines of her mind, as a truth she need translate, not dictate – had poured out her like sweet wine. It was not so direct a confession, but still old lessons scoffed in her ear for the coarse term, that she need resort to such measures to express the emotion.

But… She could not limit herself any longer. Yes, she wished to find and use any and all ways to convey her love, would settle for simply claiming the sentiment true, but every day, her efforts felt like they fell a little more short- Not from a lost feeling but an expansion. Nothing she could think to do or say could truly cover the extent of her feelings.

Still, she had struggled… Until she had thought she had lost him, never knowing if she had succeeded enough that Erik could know and trust the word without it ever having been uttered. She could not chance that uncertainty again- And even as the word slipped from her, only the reception made her pause, eyes opening to drink him in at the gasp she heard from him, quiet and deep. There was nothing there to fear – she had never expected it, truly – but still, the joy in his eyes soothed some uncertain edges of her mind- A part that had wondered if he cared for such directness, or had sworn off the word in some capacity at some point in his tragic life. There was no need to wonder any longer-

“-- And I would follow you anywhere you pleased to go, my dear… Not only now, but forever.”

That- That softened the questions in her heart, a smile claiming her lips as she shut her eyes once more, listening as though nothing in her life could soothe her like Erik, his voice and his precious promises. She hated promises… But she adored him for all he wished to give her- His assurances some of the dearest gifts of all. And… it felt so strangely easy to trust, when they fell from his lips, striving to bind himself her ways she could never, ever protest.

Eyes opened again to catch his as he worshiped her fingers, cheeks flushing for the naked kisses for her bare fingertips, where gloves covered the rest of her hand. She- she could not look away from those eyes, leaving her to only watch… And then struggle for breath as he spoke.

No… No, it would not be the first time they had disappeared, and it was far too tempting to repeat the occurrence anew- Especially as the crowd moving about them grew so openly disapproving that she feared intervention. Better- Better to find a place to stay, and-

“A walk?” she breathed as she found her own feet, but blessedly not her release from the man, her fingers playing over his until a thought prompted her to squeeze them, the sudden spark of light in her gaze only highlighting the affection within them. “What- what of Luxembourg?” She was not usually one for repetition where novelty was possible, but. That was the exact same garden she had walked with this very man, months ago. It had been freezing, then, the flora barely away when she walked with the man who had caught hold of her heart… And now- She would be strolling through those trees and gardens at full bloom, with the man had utterly claimed it. “It should be closing soon.” And no one would be there- A fact that meant nothing to the lady beyond a reason to clutch his hand a little tighter as she peered long and meaningfully into his eyes. “We could stay there as long as we like… And leave, whenever we like.”

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Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ The Chess [Korzeniowski] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ ❤❤

[Arsenic-S]

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ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
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”What- what of Luxembourg?”

It had been difficult, at first, to even think of proper suggestions through the fog of his content-- only brushed aside due to the sheer necessity of a world that would go on turning with or without them. But when that spark of interest flickered to life in her eyes, Erik found an entirely new appreciation in the specifics of what he himself had mused only for it to be expanded upon by the lady’s own preferences. A walk… Through Luxembourg.

More often than not, nostalgia was an insufferable thing he preferred to avoid at all costs. After all, what memories, what walks of his life, would any man truly wish to remember-- to relive-- as his own? Little more than a year ago, the answer would have been a growling and resounding none. And yet-- even then he knew that the answer had long since changed. Despite the intermingling of danger, prying nobility and impending attacks, conflict even between themselves-- those very same twelve months had been peppered with an increasing number of memories that he would always remember… Or perhaps more significantly he would always hold onto-- glad to relive them at every opportunity.

And among them? -- The walk through Luxembourg in the cold of winter. How could so short a span of time manage to outshine decades of tragedy?

That faint, shadowed smile twitched slightly wider at the thought, a sharp brow arching despite being covered by the mask. “It should be quite lovely this time of year,” he drawled in a quiet musing that was followed by a reflective nod, though it remained evident enough that despite that seemingly purposeful motion, he lingered in his every glance to her, every touch and draw of her voice.

The place would be near night and day in ways-- between the wintry months and the heat of summer… Ironic, perhaps, when compared to so much that had changed since that time… Himself, this woman, and most of all the binds that came to tie them together.

To think, once, he had only entertained this woman’s presence out of necessity-- a begrudging agreement to ensure his old confidant’s daughter was cared for even after her death. And yet after all that time… After all that conflict and strife, that stubborn insistence that she leave him be? He could never ask for anything more than her constant and stout refusal. If he had succeeded in those fruitless efforts...

“Time is of no concern, of course.” He soon added with his usual, arid humor-- even if it was lined with qualities far warmer in nature than what was generally common for him. Qualities that had his gaze soft upon her features, that led him to squeeze her hand tighter, to lead her then in the direction of the aforementioned garden but retain that gently laced grip. It was only in that time that he realized just how fast the world had been going on without him-- not only in her absence but well before even that… For suddenly-- their movements seemed slow, truly savored.. Hardly something worth complaint. He knew the threats they had endured prior may still very well exist in some capacity somewhere within the darker reaches of Paris, but oh, he would not let that sully their time together then.

“I am residing in a small hotel not far from there, regardless. Alone.” He added the latter part not in any grim expansion but in a pointed acknowledgment that they did, indeed, have somewhere to go for the very privacy they could not anywhere else. “... The Daroga has been moving between Paris and Boucherville… Where the others have temporarily settled.”




Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
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ooc . . . ♥♥♥
music . . . The Chess [Kaczmarek] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

“It should be quite lovely this time of year.”

The pleasure only grew in Marguerite’s smile at the assent; the acute awareness of that Erik watched every twitch in her face only intensifying the felicity visible in her features. She knew, after all, that it pleased him to please her, just as his hearty approval of her idea delighted her. She had no reason to hide her reactions- Especially then, as they ‘parted’ enough that only their hands and brushing fronts maintained any contact, and left them only all the more dependent on looks and words to convey feeling. “Quite pretty… There should be poppies and bluebeards in full bloom- Perhaps even some hydrangeas…” Countless flowers, even then, tended by workers set to keep the gardens in picturesque form, so long as it was open to the public.

They might yet run into such workers, tending the place… But that was nothing to her. If they caught them, they could claim ignorance and ‘leave’… Or they might have to sneak into one of the shut up buildings of the palais, or huddle behind some tree. Tucked together somewhere to wait for who knew how long.

What a tragedy.

Now… Hiding behind a shrub or standing in the open street, she was certain she would not notice much of a difference, so long as he was looking at her like that, like he just… Like he wanted nothing more than to keep looking at her forever. And the very idea set her pulse to a soft flutter- Oh, she was certainly- No, beyond willing for that, her pale eyes darkened with the sentiment, unable to break their stare even as Erik began to lead her away… At least until necessity made them both face forward, and then her free hand took an eager hold of his arm, bringing her into step with him as they slid away from the spot of their social ‘crime’, gazes still trained on them as they left.

Meg did not look back to them, though, her focus soundly tied up in that one, singular man and what he had to say.

“I am residing in a small hotel not far from there, regardless. Alone.”

“-you don’t say?” she breathed back, gaze trained up on him from the side in a way that made it appear all the more keen. Oh yes, a part of her quailed and laughed at once, to think he had been stationed so impossibly close to her, all that time. Why, they fact that they were both alive and well and desperately seeking each other for so long without success as a mystery to itself… But one she could only imagine solving if they compared detailed notes on what they had been doing and when, exactly. And she was of no mind for that, at the present, far more intrigued by the now and how they need not be too creative or unconventional in their hunt for an undisturbed corner of the world. He had one right at the ready, intended or not.

But she could not express her appreciation for that via anymore than a pleased twinkle of the eye- before explanations blinked it away in astonishment. She tilted, looking at him more directly, even as they continued to walk. “Boucherville… Isn’t that-” She, could be wrong. She had only heard the name of the village now and then in passing, and it would be foolish to assume Erik didn’t have little hidey holes across the length of France. Or, perhaps it had been Christine’s choice, or Nadir’s suggestion. It- It did not have to be… “I am glad they are all well. I assumed so- That you would have told me otherwise. But where… Exactly, are they hiding?”

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Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ The Chess [Korzeniowski] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ Uh, Meg- That might not be the best idea for your plans of- Erm...

[Arsenic-S]

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ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
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”Quite pretty… There should be poppies and bluebeards in full bloom- Perhaps even some hydrangeas…”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, in truth-- her musings eliciting a rare, albeit vague, chuckle to escape from the man’s lips as they turned and made to leisurely escape-- or rather stroll-- from the scene of their so-called ‘crime’. The Luxembourg was a fair walk from where they stood, but nothing unmanageable-- nor would Erik hold any true complaints given the entire length of that trek would be made at Marguerite’s side. Their destination could have very well been Venice itself for all he truly cared.

It was a notion only further compounded by the gradual settling of the woman at his arm, falling into step with her grip as if the two were suddenly nothing out of the ordinary. Save for perhaps an odd, young couple lingering too close to one another as they moved-- which, in truth, paled in comparison to what other transgressions they had made in the social eye that evening. But no, all Erik truly cared for by that point in time was the fact that, finally, he could breathe once more, he could see once more. And oh, he had been left to wonder how, exactly, he had quite managed to do either of those things prior to this woman coming so unexpectedly into his life... Even if her acknowledgment toward his assurance was something that brought him to a pausing silence to peer briefly toward her from the corners of his eyes.

Stifling a clearing of his throat, Erik adjusted the fabric of his collar in an attempt to dismiss the sudden warmth there and continued to lead the woman forward-- down the boulevard and passed the fallen remnants of the opera. It was strange how easily he could pass the sight by then without so much as a second thought-- not when he could shift his attention ever so slightly and indulge himself in the sight of Marguerite herself. In truth, it was almost difficult not to do just that-- to lose sight of their destination forward if only to dwell upon that which was already right there, at his arm.

Yet as the subject shifted, naturally, to the others and their current whereabouts, he fell silent for a beat, gaze drifting to their front again as his free hand had moved to rest atop one of her own. He had… Anticipated the questions but-- had not entirely prepared for them, in truth… Not when he had been far too distracted with the notion of finding the lady first, rather than piecing together a proper explanation to offer her once the time came.

”But where… Exactly, are they hiding?””

… Even if he had been given time to consider this answer, how would it have differed from the truth? It remained a subject he had little desire to delve into, but… To evade it too blatantly then would be to brazenly lie to the woman’s face… Something that would risk a sense of alienation that was far from worth its potential costs. “... It is…” He attempted at first, a faint frown tugging at his lips as they turned a corner and, at long last, seemed to escape the sight of those still set upon scrutinizing the couple too closely as they walked. “... A small, simple house, on the outskirts of the village... Inherited.” Pausing, his brow furrowed beneath the mask and he cleared his throat quietly, “My ties to the place have long been erased by time. Save for, Madame Perrault... No one knows of it. The others will be safe there for however long it takes before we are ready to reunite with them.”



Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
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ooc . . .
music . . . The Chess [Kaczmarek] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

Marguerite knew the answer before he even spoke- If not consciously then intuitively, the delay offering her avid eye a feast of expression, if not words. It… Truly, she could not say if anything drastic shifted in his expression itself. But be it outward display or some awareness and experience she was not even conscious of in play, uneasiness struck her a good second before he spoke or frowned, the disbelief in her eyes flattening into mute disquiet.

“…A small, simple house, on the outskirts of the village… Inherited.”

…it was. It could be nothing else. It was the house he was born into. His mother’s house.

She… Honestly, as her mind grappled for untouched, dusty knowledge of the place beneath his quiet explanations, Marguerite realized she knew very, very little of the place. Honestly, he had probably provided her with more descriptors in those few, bare sentences than in all their other moments combined. No, what she knew was simply Erik’s misery, there. The sense of captivity and the hatefulness of the woman he had shared it with in his earliest years. At all other times, that was all that had ever mattered to her- What it had done to him.

But- But that did not tell her why, if he hated it so, he would choose that of all places. Were there not other choices? Did they not have funds hidden away to create a new one, if not? Had he, simply doubted their ability to arrange it without him present?

The questions piled up in her throat and shined in her eyes through a film of concern… But it was some moments before she even tried to speak, allowing them to walk at least half a block at the slow, leisurely pace their close proximity and bound hands unapologetically called for. The questions clashed in her head and pushed each other out of the way for precedence, but… As the couple passed each storefront and building, Marguerite found the most important one to her, at that moment, wasn’t why he had chosen the place, or what it was like, or if he was comfortable with the fact. They were all secondary, or sadly obvious. What was most crucial in her eyes was-

“Then, can we call them to us?” she asked, gaze skirting forward only long enough to watch where she was going before catching on him again, and sticking. “Or, are we to meet them somewhere else?” It would, not be odd, after all. Especially given the intended temporary fix of the place clear in his tone, and a need of a more permanent decision for what was to be done. And… For his sake- “Raoul has had to keep low in Paris, of course, but he and Christine- They could go anywhere else now, couldn’t they? Back to Nice or… Where they liked… And we-” she stalled, face turning away with a frown, wanting to provide a good, clear suggestion, but coming up short. The pause of quiet among footsteps and city noise allowed her to consider though, and she tentatively asked the question that, had been at the heart of the issue all along. The one she had avoided. “Is… the Shah, still a problem?”

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Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ The Chess [Korzeniowski] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪

[Arsenic-S]

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ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
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There was silence at first, and it was in that quiet that Erik came to the conclusion that despite how little he had discussed the place, much less his earliest days there, Meg clearly recalled enough to know what, exactly, ‘Boucherville’ meant. It was both a bane and a balm-- on one hand surprising to realize she had paid that close of attention to his rare words on the subject… And yet it made it difficult to hide then, even if he wished to bypass that place without a word toward its origins. But then-- to do so… Would that not mean hiding something of importance from her?

Strange how a concern of such nature would suddenly be… Relevant. Never before would he have hesitated to maintain such a secret unless absolutely necessary, especially something of that particular capacity. But oh, she deserved so much better than skirting falsehoods and empty claims to the contrary… Even if this specific matter was one that ran perhaps deeper than any he had shared with her before. Still, he was in no hurry to paint that picture in its fullest, nor would he reveal each and every finite detail simply due to the acknowledgment that it was what she suspected. But... he would no longer lie to her if she simply asked of whatever curiosities crossed her mind.

“Then, can we call them to us? Or, are we to meet them somewhere else?”

Yellow eyes were prompted to drift to their front once more, closing if only briefly in thought before reopening again as his hand toyed idly with the hem of her glove at his arm. He had considered the options a million times over-- those scant alternatives-- and yet it seemed he had resigned himself to something that, for the time, remained unspoken. Instead, he was content enough to listen to her voice, a comforting sound even then despite its carrying inquiries whose answers were anything but palatable.

“Is… the Shah, still a problem?”

At that, he dipped his head in a nod before finally speaking aloud, “He maintains a presence here in the city. There are men, occasionally, who come by the remnants of the manor as if patrolling for signs of life. His attention is fickle, however-- quickly waning in favor of more important matters elsewhere-- But we cannot risk lingering in Paris for too long in case discovery leads to a refreshed interest simply for the sake of tormenting us.” He paused then, his hand then settling comfortably over her own as he studied the path ahead of them, a place that as gradually becoming less populated as they put distance between themselves and the Cafe.

“The accounts remain frozen. I kept a small amount of funds there in Boucherville, but it is only enough to cover expenses for myself here in Paris and supplies for the others. It should only take a short time to access the “Mansart” finances for a final withdrawal, but until then…” His voice trailed off, that same resignation coloring what few features of his remained visible despite the mask. “There are few alternatives that can comfortably support the number of individuals currently in need of a shelter safe from the both Persian attention as well as the fallout surrounding the Mansart name. Once the Comte is capable of travel, we will meet them there after which he and his will be free to go wherever it is they feel appropriate. Optimally, we will have procured funds by then to go elsewhere ourselves.”



Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . .
music . . . The Chess [Kaczmarek] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

Marguerite… Didn’t know what she had expected, but there was no shock, or real disappointment at the initial confirmation of the continued Persian watch. If the Shah knew Erik, and had lost track of him once before, it would be strange for him to accept a ‘victory’ without a body to show for it. That, at least, drew nothing from the lady but a quiet mirror of a nod, eyes continuing to catch unseeing on the street ahead.

At least- until he mentioned the men, scouring the ruins of the manor.

She did not give much tell- Nothing more than a catch of a heel, before her pace resumed, her attention elsewhere a little more pointed. Her expression had already been heavy, though, and it simply stayed that way as she realized- She had been by the manor, more than a few times. And she had not, seen anyone… But, had she simply not seen them? Or they she? Had they mistaken her for one of the many who likely stopped by to peek at the smoky remains of a once great house, whispering among themselves of fire and death and, perhaps even, ghosts? Not recognized her without the wig or bloody throat and dress?

Just, how close had she come to…

It was a pointless like of thought, though, and the important thing then was the fact they could not stay in Paris. It… was a disappointment, it was true, but not as great as it might have been. After all, much of what she loved of the place had been lost to flame, buried beneath the ground, or was set to leave right along with her. What mattered was where they were going, and apparently, their lack of choice in the matter. She had all but forgotten the binds on Erik’s funds, and the reminder drew a dazed shock that disappeared with a distracted blink, her eyes dropping to where he played at her glove as he went on, as if mesmerized by the movement. She heard, though. She did not know how to respond to some of it, and most she did not dare interrupt when he still had much to share, but she heard.

“…I had feared much worse,” she finally admitted, voice caught between something of a dream and a confession. “I suppose I should be sorry for the trouble, and I do regret some things lost… But I spent the last few weeks – or, was it months – fearing the loss of things far more precious. Things I could never replace if I tried.” It didn’t matter if it was her own belongings, all she had ever owned, the wonders of art and objects in that house- Even Erik’s creations and gifts, so irreplaceable, were nothing to the reality of walking at his side, holding his hand, without the drums of doom sounding right at their backs.

When was the last time she could walk at his side like this, truly at ease? What was any song or jewel to that?

That didn’t shift the problems before them then, of course, or erase what Erik must certainly be feeling, with that house as his only viable option. But it was what prompted her to rest her head upon his arm, a light pressure that shifted with each step they took as she went on, on quiet murmurs that were as much musings to herself as words to him. “I suppose we should check if the Shah is going anywhere else on his ‘tour’ or what countries might be too friendly with him… But we should still have much of Europe at our disposal, yes? Once we meet back up, and have things in order, there are parts of France still viable? Or we could go abroad again, for a longer ‘visit’. Back to Italy, if you like, or Spain? Barcelona, Brussels… I know most of Germany and Austria would not be palatable-” her lips curled as she shot him a look, light and testing in its humor, before she pressed her cheek back to his arm. “But I know I would not be bored, wherever you feel suits, as long as you are there- The setting is merely for color.” A… long moment dragged on, after that, as she stared at nothing in particular… But something still hung in the air unfinished, until she looked back up, with a quiet. “The same goes for Boucherville… That will be fine, if you think it best. So long as you are comfortable there.”

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Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ The Chess [Korzeniowski] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
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”…I had feared much worse,”

Her words drew that stalwart glance away from the road, to peer down on her at first in mild, wintry surprise and then gradual understanding. There was no denying a frustration all his own at the thought of that lost sanctity-- the closest thing to a true, human ‘home’ he had built and kept for himself for as long as he could properly recall. One that, at least, was not stationed in the subterranean basements of a once great Opera house. Still-- it was so much work gone… So many priceless souvenirs, mementos-- places and the memories tied to them-- burned to the ground. But Marguerite’s words rang true-- and what little discontent lingered with the thought was quickly dissolved at the mere realization of how so much more could have been lost alongside it all.

Erik would have happily sacrificed his every worldly possession, his entire fortune, to see her safe and beside him again, even before the events of the night that turned all their lives on their heads. And oh, he would do it all again and again, and even more, if the situation called for such a trade.

Though no smile touched his lips at first, the fondness was as warm as ever in a gaze that turned forward again, though his hand lightly squeezed her own as if to, confirm, some sort of agreement to what she spoke of. But no, the expression did not fully shift into something so visibly true until he realized she had moved, pressing her cheek affectionately to his arm and was then staring up at him as she mused on about the potentials of their future destinations-- and even then it was a wry sort of smile that tugged at his lips, dully amused for the jab regarding places. “I suppose so… But they are not without their merits. Case in point Fidelio, or perhaps the Kölner Dom.” He corrected blithely with that crisp mirth of his, though soon he continued on with a slow, contemplative tone. “I believe anywhere but Paris will likely be safe. Last I was aware, the Shah’s tour was to mostly take him through England-- his men, at least, simply took a bit of a detour. I am not convinced he would deign it worth the time and resources to thoroughly scour all of France without some form of a lead.”

Tilting his head to the right, Erik considered something more before adding with a muted chuckle, “Though… That is not to say going abroad would be entirely out of the question either… Barcelona’s Santa Maria del Mar is a sight you may enjoy, after all. And it is not without its own gardens...”

The humor was ultimately fated to dissipate into nothing, however, once silence reigned and he somehow… knew where this conversation would lead next, on some capacity. But oh, she tried-- that much was clear-- to skirt the subject as painlessly as she could… Emphasizing on his preferences, his comfort rather than the details of the place. It was the only thing that could manage to save some measure of tenderness in his regard, even while thinking of his first prison.

“In truth: I do not believe I will ever be ‘comfortable’ in that place.” He eventually muttered, begrudged, though the grumbling somehow managed to retain that strange clarity of tone and enunciation he seemed to always possess. “But it is what it is. One’s personal ease must at times take a backseat to necessity. All I can do now is work toward ensuring the stay remains brief.”” He paused, the growing severity of his voice suddenly ebbing, softening, as yellow eyes cast a glance toward the lady, “ It is only a place, after all. No matter the memories tied to it-- there is nothing there that can harm me now. Not now that I have endured-- and survived-- far greater fears than a few ghosts from the past, however cruel they may have been.”



Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . .
music . . . The Chess [Kaczmarek] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

She knew, really, that it was in many ways too much to ask. For Erik to be comfortable in such a house… It was unrealistic, likely no more reasonable than asking her to be at ease in the house she had been born into. But where Marguerite could not imagine circumstances where she would ever consider returning to that place- Never mind so calmly- Erik addressed the topic with a grim, but still collected, resigned air. It was… Really, she knew it was no evidence of insignificance or triviality, when it came to the demons of his past, all too present. They were as great- No… Greater, than most would ever have to contend with in their life.

That knowledge came with a weight that stained Marguerite’s gaze with a strange hue- Bleak and troubled and yet, venerating. She did not need to have or understand his endurance or sacrifice to value it as she should. However he might paint it as necessary, that did not change the fact that he could have chosen a path slightly riskier, for the sake of preserving his distance from that place.

And the expression did not dissipate in light of his direct glance, enduring through his efforts to downplay power of the little house. She would not gainsay him. If he said it was no great trial, she would let that stand in silence. Whatever she knew of the strength a ghost to display, perhaps he could spin truth from confidence. She had done her fair share of that over the years, after all- If not in the same sense. If he proved the claims true, then no harm done. And if the ghosts proved stronger than he implied… Well, she would be there.

"Then we will focus on how we shall get there in the first place," she said instead, her fingers squeezing those cause against the palm of her hand as she observed the streets ahead of them- Blocks and blocks yet to walk, rolling out the promise of steady, unfluctuating companionship. "Raoul should not be an issue, if we wait long enough, but the baby is still only a few weeks old.” The soft echo of a smile at her lips curled into a grin, gaze flicking up to Erik once more. "We can have no rushed, undisturbed hours in a carriage with him aboard. Philippe will need regular rests along the way- Preferably out of the heat, or the little cherub might turn into a hellion." And unless Nadir appeared in time and proved a willing carer, those capable of tending the infant would be few and soon worn down.

"-and I would not mind seeing Fidelio,” she added without much break or transition, her expression warming into something far too soft for a tease or a laugh."I doubt we will have occasion to hear it here, anytime soon… And Barcelona…" The brief shine of light in her eyes disappeared as quickly as it had risen, covered in an odd, uncertain sort of cloud, eyes skittering away with something like shame, or shyness- Or both. "I have wondered about the place a while… Ma’s mother came from Seville, I think, and Father… He spent most of his life hiding in the country, and brought her alone for the ride. Thanks to them… Toledo, Seville, Burgos, Granada- Once upon a time, I thought I would most certainly see it all- I was much more certain I would see them, than Paris.” A great irony she was clearly conscious of, given her glance, but one she most certainly did not regret. “And yet, I have never learned the language… And if I remember right-" she started, grin splitting her face with a suddenness that could make one blink. "We said I would master Italian first, did we not?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ The Chess [Korzeniowski] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪

[Arsenic-S]

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ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

"Then we will focus on how we shall get there in the first place,"

The shift in subject was welcome, though Erik could not help but linger his gaze upon the woman as she didn’t attempt to redirect her expression… That warmth outlined with a desolate trouble that glossed over her features but did not erase the esteem there all the same. Though he was uncertain why, the regard was something of a… comfort, despite the clear knowledge there that despite his spoken confidence, the place in question would pose a challenge to the man regardless. And yet he visibly eased as he looked upon her, content enough to follow her line of thought, away from the ghosts of his past, if only for the time.

”Philippe will need regular rests along the way- Preferably out of the heat, or the little cherub might turn into a hellion.”

“I would not entirely rule out the possibility of that shift just yet, travel notwithstanding.” He eventually considered with an arid mirth, her humor eliciting a dull smirk of his own to twitch at pale lips. Yet yellow eyes drifted gradually to the street only to blink once and snap back to to the woman at his arm as she seemed to… Change, suddenly. The previous whimsy was gone and in its place was something strange, familiar, but no less troublesome when she quickly diverted those silvers again as if in… Reticence? He was unsure, but-- he listened closely to what she had to say next, hoping for some form of clue as to why and how.

And then it came-- a little picture into her own, similarly obscured and rarely spoken of past. A family that though he had been given a fairly indicative description of, still lacked in true and total clarity. A father in hiding, Antoinette at his side as they sheltered themselves within Spain’s very embrace. He had never been one to press the woman on her own origins, just as she had never he-- but oh, he welcomed whatever fine points she was willing to share of her own accord-- whenever, wherever… And he would take those rarely known facts as if they were priceless artifacts to be inscribed away within his own mind, stowing them away for later reference.

“I see.” Was all that came at first but soon he dipped his head in a nod and shifted on his feet, bringing them to a pause at a street corner as he would wait. Now that they were far enough away from the curious and disapproving crowd, he was far more confident that they would have no trouble procuring a carriage. Still, in the pause, his own expression remained calm, collected, save for a flash of gratitude in his eyes as they moved toward her. Nothing had required that she speak of those ill placed regrets-- and yet she had chosen to share with him of her own volition. “Our days are still young, Marguerite. And you will see all of Barcelona, Seville-- anywhere you may wish. Perhaps we will do so next, after all. I see little reason why we cannot take advantage of the Mansart name being squashed… It only frees us to move as we like, whenever we like.”

Spotting a cab as it rounded a corner, he lifted his free hand toward it, the other remaining closed over the lady’s at his side. As it pulled up alongside them, the driver giving them a brief and inquisitive look before gesturing carelessly to them to board, Erik offered Marguerite a hand up. By then, that smirk had softened into something tender but deliberate, “-- And there is still plenty of time for Italian, I am certain.”



Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . .
music . . . The Chess [Kaczmarek] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

While her shift in mood had been seemingly instant, it wasn’t necessarily false. Marguerite was certainly willing to share details of the past and her particular perspective on them with Erik, but that did not mean she cared for the sensations those confessions came with- It was only natural to press the subject on, not to distract him but her. And she was quite gifted at the art. Even if it wasn’t so simple to lift her mood out of that pit, though, the look in Erik’s eyes when he looked down at her… That likely would have made it worth it, all on its own.

There was no need for such compromises, though. She could turn her focus and keep his regard both, and her smile softened into something less pressed as he stalled them- At a street corner. She did not understand at first, but neither did she really mind. The rolling gardens and trees of Luxembourg, or the smoky familiarity of a Parisian street- The point was her company, nothing else.

And so she did not even ask, allowed him to go on with promises of more- Of Spanish cities and the freedom to choose. Such familiar ideas and dreams, and yet she heard them with the same wonder she had the first he offered her such… Such, hope. No, if anything, the potential for endless, joint possibilities took her aback only more, to find that they were once more not only possible, but likely. They still had Boscherville before them, but after-

Her smile had shrunk, but contained more light than ever in the face of his assurances, until she finally breathed, “A fresh start to build as we like… Yes.” That was how it worked, wasn’t it? You burnt down the old to make way for the new- And it was true. She had loved the house, grown more comfortable with the idea of borrowing out a space for herself within its walls, but it had been built to retreat. To die- Erik had said that, hadn’t he? Was it not appropriate then, however the loss hurt, to start over if they both wished to live?

There was not much else to say- Nothing in the time before Erik revealed his intent with the stalling of a cab. The sudden presence of a third among them as more than bystander, however flippant in his attention, prompted the lady to blink as though disturbed from a dream she did not know was reality. It was not a harsh ‘awakening’ though, and she was quick to meet his offer of support by climbing into the cab, holding on to the hand she had never unclasped to begin with. Her eyes met his in the brief breath when she was closer to his level, raised by the step, and her gaze swam with emotions light and heavy, as though thrilled by some sweet, warm secret theirs alone. “Perhaps there is- But whether it is Italian or Spanish or Greek… Whether we get a hundred years, I do not plan to let a single minute slip by lightly.”

No, she must make the most of it… But that did not always mean mastering languages or covering as many miles as possible. The quiet, slow hours were no less precious, and never wasted if she let them tick by in a haze of her hand in his. Even as words fell away before the wonder of present company or consideration or simple exhaustion of the mind, Marguerite considered the minutes in the cab and the first hours of the evening within a ‘closed’ palace garden well spent.

The trade of tales of what had become of the rest of the little group, to the wonder of the great fountain and familiar statues of the garden, to the silences that would sometimes evolve into looks into kisses-

It all sung of moments that she knew, even then, would fold in on themselves into a haze of abstract memory. Of a feeling… Barely believed peace.

There was nothing hurried in their trek, nor anything to hurry for. There was nothing to stop them from stalling- Or even stopping completely, if only to linger beneath a tree for a while. Nothing wrong with it… And Meg thought nothing of it.

Until the chirps in the night made her blink into a struggling awareness, looking about at the sound of crickets in the night.

-how long…

She could not say. Merely that she must have been unconscious to some degree, to be so discombobulated as she looked out between the tight line of trees about them, a curling shrub blocking most of the nearby path from view. She must have grown too comfortable, nestled against Erik like that as they stopped to rest for a bit, only for her to nod off. “I wonder how close it is to dawn…” she mused, only to crane her head back- And stare, eyes wide for a breath before she tried- “…Erik?”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Truman Sleeps [Glass] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪

[Arsenic-S]

❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧
ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

A fresh start.

Rarely ever had he considered it as such. No, this was not the first ‘identity’ of his-- neither purposeful nor accidental, perhaps forced-- that Erik had lost in his days wandering. It was generally a tragic thing, when it did happen, or at its best something that though he escaped, he would go on living but by bearing a slew of new scars to tell whatever unfortunate story he was leaving behind him. Never had it been something so… pleasant... So hopeful and true. It was not that he did not believe it-- no, he knew it through and through. These things he spoke of, however fantastic they may have sounded to some, were perfectly possible within his reach. But never had he thought extending a hand to them would be anything more than an idle novelty to briefly occupy a restless, constantly running mind… Much less had he ever expected to no longer find himself-- alone in the process.

”But whether it is Italian or Spanish or Greek… Whether we get a hundred years, I do not plan to let a single minute slip by lightly.”

There was that pause between Marguerite’s transition from the street to the carriage-- a brief moment where she was held at his level, eye to eye, where he could properly appreciate the warmth in her regard… A thrill that was reflected back at her by a flash of those strange yellows, a dull twitch of his lips indicating a rare smile where he was not intent on releasing her hand just yet, if ever. “Nor I.” He would agree, only bothering to join her once he had satisfied himself, for a time, with the clear sight of her face and opted, instead, to be beside her on their continued trek. The driver may has well have been an inanimate fixture in the carriage for all of Erik’s bother to acknowledge him beyond sheer necessity.

No, he was far more intent on whiling away those hours at Marguerite’s side-- first there and then soon among the full bloom of a royal garden under the veil of night, the paths left open to them and them alone. Still, it was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that time was but a distant, abstract thing to Erik-- something hardly worth one’s attention when there was no need to hurry or exist among the rest of mankind and the circadian rhythm that ruled them. But oh, how much more content was he to experience the night no longer lost within his own thoughts, but within her?

They would move as they wish, when they wished-- speaking or lingering in affectionate silence between murmured adorations, undeterred by the shift of the moon overhead or the muffled sound of a clock tower somewhere off over the horizon. Only conversation managed to cut through the blur of that thick, summer air, but even that barely served as a proper compass, for even when her words carried tales of others-- of Jammes, the baby, even Chagny-- her voice was like a heady drink he was more than willing to partake in-- quick to bewitch and captivate in the most exquisite of ways.

And yet never would he have expected that somewhere between quiet talks and navigating, pinpointing the constellations overhead still visible, despite nearby street lamps, it would all somehow… Fade into a warm existence of nothing and everything all at once. A feeling, far more than an awareness, a sudden ease he could only rarely recall having ever felt before…. A sense that was only broken at the sound of that beloved voice--

”... Erik?”

Marguerite’s words belatedly registered in his mind as yellow eyes blinked open, quickly flickering toward the sky to find the moon once more-- already hanging low in the west.

Had… He fallen asleep, of all things? There, where his head and neck ached slightly from leaning against the trunk of the tree... It had been-- several days, after all, since last he had bothered to rest. Not since that night before the Masque...

But the human body could only go so long before it began to break down and, in truth, he had not given it any true thought until then… When the exhaustion was beginning to rear its head to such a degree he could doze off in the open, knowing that there could still be danger lurking ‘round the nearest corner. He had simply been so absorbed with the notion of finding her, he had devolved into old, destructive habits he knew were-- shamefully and on some level-- entirely counterintuitive to promises oh so recently made.

“Ah…” He eventually murmured, his hand lifting to rub at his eyes, only to recall that the mask offered an obstruction in doing so. “-- Soon.” He answered then, recalling her question and answering it all in the same, overdue manner. “An… Hour, or two, perhaps.” A weary chuckle escaped him, but the humor was short lived as he attempted to quickly brush the fatigue away, only for it to shine through more clearly than ever before. Shifting a bit, he tilted his head to one side to peer down on the woman who had nestled comfortably into his embrace. “... It may be time to move, lest we be discovered by the park’s caretakers upon their arrival.”



Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . . Oh right, sleep is a thing. Woops. :’D
music . . . Truman Sleeps [Glass] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

Half of her had expected dear candlelight eyes to ease open - unrushed but undelayed - and peer right down at her, with complete clarity. For him to prove that he was simply resting his eyes. Little else seemed remotely believable to her. She had nodded off herself, certainly, but how many times had that happened before? How many times has she dozed off in his arms? Propped up in a chair or against a desk or tree, or curled up flat on their backs or sides- When they were together, she almost always woke to his voice, or to yellow orbs peering warmly down at her as she stirred enough to look up. If something else woke her, he was always three steps ahead of her groggy senses.

Who then could blame her for staring, too shocked for even breathing, as he tried and failed to rub at his face, mumbling delayed replies? Even the welcome sound of his laughter merely disturbed her stillness enough for a blink, struggling comprehension twisting through her expression as she peered up at him through the close, shadowed proximity-

He was tired. That was obvious. What might not be obvious to others was how jarring that simple fact was. Not that he was tired, for he had to be quite often. But how often did it shine through as more than a quiet brood or a prickly temper? Marguerite imagined she was allowed more signs of what ailed him than most ever witnessed, but even she had rarely, ever…

“... It may be time to move, lest we be discovered by the park’s caretakers upon their arrival.”

“-of course,” she agreed, but without a single sign of moving or shift in her expression- The ghost of a frown obstructed only be confusion and mute alarm remaining stapled on her face. “I didn’t intend to linger so long, but I know we did not watch the time… I never expected we would actually doze off, though.” Whatever her own exhaustion, the coffees she had downed upon initial arrival at the café had run heavy in her blood, countering her lost sleep and keeping her moving- For a while. It must have worn off long ago, crashing her system enough for her to fall asleep in such a place, but that was her own mystery solved.

His-

Eyes skirted checkingly about them, but were quick to dismiss the unlikelihood of witnesses in favor of reaching up to gently coax the mask off, holding it to her lap as her other hand sought his cheek. Soft fingertips followed the sharp lines that ran beneath his eye, following the bruised proof of exhaustion that most would have likely missed within the deep hollows. “…though I wonder if you can reach this hotel without it happening again,” she added, hating the fact that she was not overstating herself in her usual manner.

Her hand dropped and sought a hand to clutch as her own grays pinned him, scrutinizing as much by sight as she had touch, and with the same tender, unbending concern- Though there was something uneasy beginning to stir behind her gaze, like an avalanche that was yet little more than a tumbling snowball. “Erik- I know the summer heat and late hour isn’t to blame… Are you ill?”

By the gods, if he was ignoring some simple chill or malady right into his death bed, and she was missing it- again-

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Truman Sleeps [Glass] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ Oh dear oh dear- Not a good thing to let her imagination run wild on that topic. cx

[Arsenic-S]

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ץσυ αre тнe s n o w s t o r m, ι'm pυrιғιed.______________________
______________________тнe dαrkesт f a i r y t a l e, ιn тнe deαd oғ nιɢнт
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

Even as she spoke, she was staring at him-- and though Erik did not inquire to the attention right away, he could more or less assume its purpose. Fatigue was no stranger to him, of course-- like it or not, disclaim it or otherwise, this was a human body he inhabited. And, oh, there were times when it did not exactly sing its praises to him when he would go days without food or rest. And yet, it was between that same body and a troubled mind that often made those very things near impossible to achieve. But by that point, it was a rare thing to see him having pressed himself to such limits-- not after having allowed Marguerite into his life, creating a reason to preserve his health to some degree… Thus it had become a bad habit, a scarce thing, to find himself so exhausted even he could not do much to mask or hide it away from peering eyes.

But though he trusted the very hands belonging to his new reason when they lifted, he hadn’t expected her actions in actually removing his mask. To do so out and about in such open air was… Troubling. Difficult to a degree that left him visibly tensed, yellow eyes flicking away from her to their surroundings-- not in fear of what she would see, as it was nothing new to her by then, but for who might come wandering down the path at any moment.

But he did not otherwise fight it-- resigning instead to satisfy whatever purpose she had in doing so… Only for her touch to noticeably ebb away at whatever paranoias lingered there, leaving him to breathe a tired but contented sigh as he closed his eyes against the stress of the thought and attempted to simply enjoy those affections. But soon her words drew him back to the moment-- and the apparent ‘issues’ at hand.

Yellow pinpoints opened once more and he quirked a sharp brow. “It is not so far away.” He assured, though his tone was careful in its every lilt. In that pause between sentiments, he attempted to offer the woman a dull smile that only came through as weary, albeit genuine all the same. But before he could voice further reassurance, he would find his hand once more entwined with her own as he faced a pair of scrutinizing eyes that lacked the usual mirth that would often veil such serious concern. Somehow it seemed… Unbridled. Intent in a way he was not terribly familiar with.

”Erik- I know the summer heat and late hour isn’t to blame… Are you ill?”

At that, he squinted at her for a brief moment before frowning and lifting his free hand to gently trace fingertips along the soft curve of her cheek, the other slightly squeezing in their shared grasp. “-- No. I am not ill.” He attempted to convince her, his own demeanor betraying a confidence in that fact that, he hoped, would aid in soothing her worries.

“I am simply--” Erik paused, exposed brow furrowing in a way that was rarely seen under the cover of that mask-- an object his gaze had drifted to for a moment, not out of wanting but instead brief wondering as to how it was off at all. The last time it had been so in a garden-- well, the memory was bittersweet.

“-- I am simply tired, Marguerite. I will admit, I could not bring myself to sleep while still searching for you.” But then that crooked expression grew somber, eyes lifting once more to find her own in a quiet searching, an attempt to decipher her reaction as it came. “Even if I had tried... There was no resting.”


Erik // Isabella // Nadir // Landan // Christine // Adelaide
❧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧


ooc . . . Oh right, sleep is a thing. Woops. :’D
music . . . Truman Sleeps [Glass] ♫
art . . .© Shikorimu

[Without Knowledge]

-
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
So we just hold on fast, acknowledge the past as lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted to carve us as instruments that play the music of life
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

---

The troubled confusion was little comfort at first, for if Marguerite knew anything, it was that minding his own care did not come naturally to the man. His touch, a sweet familiarity that struck her with its own earnest consistency, might melt the tight lines in the face he caressed, but that simply left the apprehension beneath the determination all the more transparent.

Only his spoken assurance could make a dent in that worry, confusion sliding back into her gaze with that dreaded potential stripped away.

For, if it was not some illness-

“-- I am simply tired, Marguerite. I will admit, I could not bring myself to sleep while still searching for you… Even if I had tried... There was no resting.”

It was… It was not truly a shock, really. Not for its own sake, at least. But having no other explanation – even one as unwanted as disease – left her with nothing but a truth she could not quiet accept.

He was so tired- So worn out, that he had come to this? Out of pure exhaustion?

She did not reply at first, the emotions sparking and thoughts fighting for comprehension behind her eyes all collapsing in on themselves. “Erik… That was- Days ago. A week- two? And you… You did not sleep much before the masque either, I remember.” A weariness invaded her expression- Not of fatigue alone, but first and foremost helplessness. For whatever her innate instinct to lash out at such self-destruction, to imply that he should not have been upset? She could not be such a hypocrite.

“How could you… Even if- I know, I understand that you could not rest naturally, but why didn’t you-” Marguerite cut herself off, sharply turning her head to stare blindly out to the shrubs. No… She could not say that. Even if she could find no better words, she knew no good would come from detailing how she had managed to force her own mind into stasis after she returned to her friend’s house each night.

How she found the will to not wander the dark streets at the bottom of a bottle.

“…I thought if I destroyed myself, trying to find you, that you would never forgive me…” She all but breathed the words, quiet and muddled to the point of straining.

She found the will to look at him again without any real distress, though, defeat the defining sheen in her eyes as she sighed through a slow stand… And even then she would not release his hand, the clasp turning to loose connection and then coaxing pull as she found her own feet. “There’s no point now- We just need to find a bed. And-” Her mouth formed the word, but it stuck in her throat for a breath, the lady clearly wary what the answer would be… “Does this struggle for rest include nourishment, too?”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
-
Aldric :: Bertrand :: Charles :: Damien :: Marguerite :: Marie :: Raoul :: William
---

musιc ▪ Truman Sleeps [Glass] ♪
тʀιʙuтe ▪ Banner art created by Tricias.
messaɢe ▪ ...