• Closed • [Venora] Dreams and Desperation

Oliver Venora.

The seven Duchies of Central Rynmere and their respective baronies, cities, towns, villages, and landmarks each overseen by a Duke of one of the seven noble families and ultimately controlled by the King of Rynmere.

Moderators: Plague, Muse, Khymarah


• Closed • [Venora] Dreams and Desperation

Postby Charlie Warrick » Sat Jan 13, 2018 2:51 am

Image
51st Zi'da 717
Morning


Charlie had awoken to lines of poetry, printed on a piece of parchment, laid gently upon the pillow beside her. It was still warm, and Charlie smiled,
reaching to the pillow and pulling it into her chest. It smelled like him. Perhaps only bits ago, Oliver Venora had lain here asleep, wrapped up in the warmth of the blankets and Charlotte Warrick.

After some time, Charlie pulled herself, blinking the sleep from her eyes. He had gone to the Temple, an early morning visitation of faith and trust in the Seven. Charlie stood from the bed and padded naked to where she had laid her clothes the night beforehand, dressing quickly before stealing away downstairs. Her riding boots treaded the way through the house that she had, in only a few trials, become so familiar with.

The kitchen was empty, save for Jirelle, who pottered about the stove. There was still a pot of fresh coffee, and Charlie poured herself a mug, inhaling the warm liquid eagerly. "Good morning, Jirelle," Charlie said warmly, smiling at Oliver's housekeeper. "Good morning, Charlie," was the reply, and warmth billowed through her, not only a result of the coffee she had imbibed. Jirelle, it seemed, had taken her word, and promised to call her by her name. "Would you like breakfast?" Charlie shook her head. "Not yet. I'm off for a ride, but when I return, I'll have breakfast with Ol--Lord Venora."

They lapsed into a warm and comfortable silence, as Charlie finished her coffee, before placing it in the tub with the remnants of dishes Oliver must have left before he had left for the Temple. Charlie bid Jirelle a farewell, and she received a warm smile in return. Moving quickly through the quiet house, she breathed a sigh of satisfaction as she walked to the stables in the morning dew. It was cold, and it had snowed overnight, blanketing Notrerevé. The serene still of the morning woke Charlie's sense.

"Good morning, girl," Charlie whispered, moving to Alana as her fingers tangled through her mane. The horse whinnied in response, and Charlie grinned. "Not too cold, are you?" Taking a moment, Charlie reached across the pen for the brush that she knew was there. Slowly and tenderly, Charlie brushed away the tangles through Alana's mane, repeating the process until none were left, and her mane shone lustrously. "Better, yes?"

Turning from Alana, Charlie reached for the saddle and bridle, well worn leather showing its near daily use. A few soft and tender touches to the nose of Alana calmed the mare, and Charlie took it as sign that Alana was ready, as she lowered her head towards Charlie. Quickly, with practiced ease, Charlie took Alana's muzzle in her hand, an insistent press of fingers against teeth causing Alana to open her mouth. The bit went in, sitting against Alana's molars. "Good girl," she whispered tenderly, as she slid the crown of the bridle over Alana'a ears, and pulling the buckles of the bridle so that it sat snuggly against Alana's head. Then, the saddle. Charlie placed the saddle pad against Alana's withers, then the saddle on top, before buckling Alana in. "There. Ready for a ride, girl?" she said grinning, before quickly placing her feet in the stirrups and hoisting herself up.

Easing Alana from the stables slowly and gracefully, she rose a hand in greeting to the stable master. It was only when she had passed out of the estate that she broke into a trot, laughing as she did. The wind through her hair on such a cool morning was the greatest wake up call she could imagine. Nothing else could make her feel this way; nothing else made her feel as alive. As she rode, she went with no direction, but found herself riding toward the Temple anyway. Perhaps she could give Oliver a ride back...

And then: the snow turned red, and with horrified eyes, Charlie saw, in the bloom of burgundy on white, a body face down. A body she knew. Quickly, she halted Alana, and dismounted so quickly she nearly staggered, but with a limping run, Charlie went to the bleeding body, panic and fear spreading through every vein.

"Oliver!"

The cry was desperate.
Image
User avatar
Charlie Warrick
Show me my place in all this.
 
Posts: 95
Joined: Mon Dec 04, 2017 7:07 pm
Race: Human
Renown: +87
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes
Plot Notes
Templates
Medals: 5
First Love (1) Bow Chicka Wow Wow (1) Right In The Feels (2) First Kiss (1)

[Venora] Dreams and Desperation

Postby Oliver Venora » Tue Jan 16, 2018 12:33 am

Image
"Lying there, in a puddle of my own blood and piss, I found how frail I really was. Body and mind."
He was warm, that much he "knew". Though, knowing was not a luxury he was afforded there in the snow. The encounter played over and over in his mind, but it was the sight, sound and feeling of the dagger sliding into his hip, slicing through supple flesh and grating against porous bone, leaving what he could only surmise was a deep rivet in the pale skeleton. He lied there, feeling the warmth spread from his wound and his cock, mingling the scents of metal and ammonia as he lied there, helpless. He couldn't bring himself to roll over, out of the puddle of blood quickly turning the snowy ground around him into a muddy disaster. Instead, he lied there, face down, the scents mingling to make him sick, quickly adding the smell of vomit to the mix.

Yet, that was not what nauseated him most. What turned his stomach was the closeness of Pythera, her proximity as her dagger entered his body. He could feel the warmth of her form, searing in the cold Zi'da air. He could smell the raw-meat scent of her breath, like she'd just shared the same meal that damned flying lizard of hers ate. But it was the look in her eyes, the cracked irises, perverted from what malady afflicted her mind and soul, mutating her from the half-Biqaj sister into the Butcher of Warrick. Oliver's mind replayed the scene, over and over, and nothing changed. It was not perception any longer: That was not Pythera.

It was the enemy.

Seven Saints. The groan elicited a wince, as he realized he had not made it to the Temple. Instead, he'd found the palatial expanse of his rage, held for so long but exacerbated by Darcyanna's recent admissions. If his jaw were not clenched so hard as to break his teeth already, he would have done so, both from pain and from hatred. He hated her, something he was not sure of until he stared into her eyes. He was going to kill her. He was going to find her, and subdue her, and make her atone for her sins. He would carve it from her flesh, if it were the last thing he did.

He coughed, arcs of agony wracking him, causing even more pain. He began to seize, shrinking into a ball of mewling pitiful man. He cried, he vomited, he bled... All of these things, Oliver did. But through it all, he thought. Mind clearer than expected through pain and blood loss, Oliver watched from on high as the horse rode into sight, sitting atop it the woman he'd prayed would find him. What luck the Seven had shown him then, as Charlotte recognized it was him immediately. He wanted to call to her, but he'd left his voice back in his body. The bloom of crimson, strangely rose-like from his angle, only grew steadily, and the whiteness of his skin threatened to make the freshly falling snow appear gray. He heard her call, as if his head were underwater, and the body on the ground struggled to turn and look at her. It failed miserably, and Oliver knew if Charlotte had not found him in that exact moment, she would have found his corpse instead.

Thank you, Charlotte, he wanted to say. To scream. To emote. To do anything other than lie there in his own lifeforce, clinging to the smallest shred of vengeance to carry him through the misery. He had to hold on, because he couldn't make Pythera suffer from the grave.

And he would make her suffer.

Help me, Charlie. Help me so that I can make her suffer. His Soul begged, even as his body grew stiffer.



Image
User avatar
Oliver Venora
The Rising Rose
 
Posts: 124
Joined: Sun Dec 03, 2017 2:13 am
Race: Ithecal
Profession: Noble
Renown: +95
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes
Templates
Medals: 7
First Love (1) Bow Chicka Wow Wow (1) Right In The Feels (3) First Kiss (1)
Puppet Master (1)

[Venora] Dreams and Desperation

Postby Charlie Warrick » Wed Jan 24, 2018 12:25 am

Image
Pitiful coughing broke its way through his throat, warm breath mingling with the blood and vomit beneath Oliver in the snow. His eyes were not quite closed, not quite open - unfocused, staring to the ground beneath him, as blood pooled from somewhere beneath him.

Everything was fuzzy as Charlie stared at her lover, fear blocking every rational thought, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. It was as though she was near the ocean; roaring echoed in her ears, and briefly she thought it was the crashing of waves, and then she realised it was fear. Charlie stared down at Oliver in mute horror, Alana whinnying breaking her frozen thoughts and spurring her into action.

"Oliver, hold on, hold on," she pled, her hands going to his shoulders and slipping beneath him. Blood and vomit stained her coat immediately as the fabric trailed in the slush, but she paid it no mind. Thanks to her time with the Skyriders, Charlie used her strength to begin to roll him over. Heaving, Charlie managed to get him on his back, so that his head rested against her cold knee.

Charlie stared in mute horror at the mess of blood and oozing clear fluid that came from his hip. It was a clean stroke, just one, buried deep into his hip and slashing open the fabric of his pants. As Charlie moved him, the blood had begun to spurt again, where it had coagulated underneath him, the pressure of his hip against the ground encouraging it to clot. She had no medical knowledge, but she knew, she needed to stop the bleeding. Otherwise he would die..

Charlie ripped off her coat, exposing her skin to the cold Zi'da air, but she gave it not a second thought. It was too thick to rip, so instead, she hesitated as she hovered over his wound. "This will hurt, Oli, but I'm here, I'm here, I'm going to take care of you." Charlie kept babbling sweet nothings as she pressed the collar of the coat against the open wound, wincing at Oliver's moan. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, love, it's nearly over, stay with me, please, please," she begged. One of her hands came underneath his hip, the uninjured side, and she lifted him, passing the rest of the coat underneath him.

Charlie let his hip lie against the cool ground again, and then, taking the two arms of the coat, she tied them together as tight as she could, the pressure of the collar against the wound remaining there as a torniquet. It wouldn't be enough - she knew that. She had to get him out. She had to get him back to Bellesoir before he bled out in her arms.

"Oli, Oli, my love, I'm moving you now. Okay? We're getting on Alana. I'm taking you home. You'll be okay, Oli, stay with me." Charlie stared at the distance between where he lay and Alana. Seven, please, she prayed desperately. Let him live. I need him to live.
Image
User avatar
Charlie Warrick
Show me my place in all this.
 
Posts: 95
Joined: Mon Dec 04, 2017 7:07 pm
Race: Human
Renown: +87
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes
Plot Notes
Templates
Medals: 5
First Love (1) Bow Chicka Wow Wow (1) Right In The Feels (2) First Kiss (1)

[Venora] Dreams and Desperation

Postby Oliver Venora » Sat Feb 03, 2018 1:18 pm

Image

Oliver could feel her touching him, the distant memory of physical touch registering somewhere deep within him. He knew that she would be panicking, sloshing through his blood-blossom to try and find a way to help him. As a child, Ambre had always told him not to move someone who is bleeding so badly, because it might cause them to bleed more, but he'd never been faced with the situation to know if it were true, nor if he would heed the advice at the expense of a loved one's life.

Loved one. He certainly thought of Charlotte that way, did she think of him like that? He knew she was trying to save his life, but was it because of the prospect of love, or had she already come to love him as he had her? Her cold hand touched him, but it was subtle, as if she had touched him in the life before and the imprint was surfacing as a niggling feeling of deja vu, but she wasn't actually there.

It was an ethereal feeling, being touched as a ghost, but Oliver felt it. A million kilos away, he felt it, in his very being, and it woke him up. As Charlotte grasped him and lifted, the strain on his side felt as if she'd stuck a hot iron in the would, but it wasn't cauterizing. Instead, it was as if gravity were trying to separate limb from torso, and if Oliver could have managed more than a groan, he would have. But he couldn't, not then. Instead, he found himself on his back, staring up at the grey sky of Zi'da, that dreary season of depression and desperation. How fitting he be stabbed in Zi'da...

Charlie murmured something, trying to sound reassuring, but she didn't. Oliver heard the guttural tones of Death himself, the clawing maw of darkness ringing his vision. Through eyes seeing pale imitations of the real world, he saw Charlotte's exposed skin, and it struck him clearly that she must be freezing. He could not understand why she was bare, but he knew she was, and his first instinct was to reach out and place a hand on her, to try and warm her. His index finger wiggled slightly, but he had very little strength to do anything else. He mumbled something indecipherable, but it was nothing.

And then everything was crimson in pain. She applied pressure to his wound, and from somewhere deep within the bowels of his numbness, electricity spread through him, searing his innards and causing a caustic scream to explode from his mouth. The roar echoed all around them, and were there birds in the frozen trees, they would have scattered. Instead, though, there was nothing, empty space with he and Charlie, sitting together as Oliver bled to death. He whimpered as waves of agony wracked him, sending him into miniature spasms against Charlotte's leg.

She told him they needed to move, and he heard it clearly. He wanted to say no, to beg not to hurt him again, but he couldn't. His tongue was thick and heavy and useless, and so he whimpered. He knew it needed to happen, but he couldn't take the pain again... He wasn't strong enough. He knew that he was broken, done and dead right there on the road. Charlotte could pick him up and ride him to Bellesoir, but Oliver wasn't sure he was strong enough to survive this...

He wasn't sure if he was strong enough to live with his vengeance against his youngest sister.

But he couldn't leave Darcyanna, or Charlotte, or even Caius. They were his family, and they needed him. He just lied there, still, no longer trying to persuade Charlie to leave him to die silently. He may not be strong enough, but he wasn't dead.

Yet.



Image
User avatar
Oliver Venora
The Rising Rose
 
Posts: 124
Joined: Sun Dec 03, 2017 2:13 am
Race: Ithecal
Profession: Noble
Renown: +95
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes
Templates
Medals: 7
First Love (1) Bow Chicka Wow Wow (1) Right In The Feels (3) First Kiss (1)
Puppet Master (1)

[Venora] Dreams and Desperation

Postby Charlie Warrick » Thu Feb 15, 2018 5:01 am

Image
The scream shocked the breath out of her, and for a moment, Charlie froze like the wilderness around her. She was a Skyrider. She had seen death and blood and entrails strewn through snow and dirt before, but the guttural sound wrenched from Oliver's throat scared her more than anything she had ever heard in her life.

He's going to die.

All at once, she realised it. Someone, somewhere, was begging, and through the ringing of her ears as she stared down at the bleeding man in her lap, it frustrated her. Shut up, shut up, shut up, she thought viciously. Whoever it was was begging, saying no, praying to the Seven. Act, Fates damn you, act!

Oh. It was her.

That was enough to get her moving. Drawing on strength pitted deep inside of her, like a coiled snake, Charlie wrenched Oliver's body with a hurl that surprised even her. He screamed again, and blood dampened the cloak she had wrapped around his body, as the movement made him bleed once again. Don't think about it, don't, just move him, just move him. She wasn't speaking to him anymore. She wasn't reassuring him. She couldn't even reassure herself. He would die, that Charlie was certain of - the only person she had dared to love would bleed out in her arms. She, too, had heard what Oliver had - never move someone bleeding out. But by the Seven, Charlie would not wait in the snow for her lover to die. If Oliver Venora were to die, Charlie would have him die as she did everything she could possibly do to save him.

Charlie issued a sharp whistle through her teeth as she hauled Oliver across the ground, leading a bloody train behind her in the slush. Alana recognised the signal and trotted over to her mistress. "Down, girl, down," she crooned, clicking her tongue against her teeth, a calm and gentle command that the horse would know, despite the horror that swirled inside of her. Alana knelt beside her mistress, and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

But there was no way Charlie could get Oliver onto the horse. As soon as she did, he would slump off, crash to the ground and bleed. Fates, why couldn't she see properly? The world was fuzzy, nothing in focus, and it was only then she realised that tears were running down her face. The realisation sent a gasped sob through her body, and she struggled to breathe. No. No. He would not die. Charlie would never forgive him if he died.

Or herself.

Distantly, she heard a repetitive sound - and Alana's whinny. Struggling to get her breathing under control, as Oliver bled onto her lap, she wiped her eyes and looked up. A carriage was coming round the corner, and more than that, a carriage bearing the colours of Notrerevé. Gently, slowly, Charlie lay Oliver on the snow again. "My love, my love, I'll be right back, yes? Don't fall asleep, my love." And then, she was up.

Running as though she was running for her life - and she was, Oliver was tied to her now - she ran right in front of the carriage to catch their attention. There, wide-eyed, controlling the horses, were too very welcome people - Gustauv and Ambre de Relle. They looked at her with wide eyes, recognising her, but she did not waste a beat, instead running back to Oliver. "Oliver!" she cried over her shoulder.

It was enough. They urged the carriage fast as they could til it lay beside Oliver's broken body. "What happened?" growled Gustauv. Ambre said nothing, kneeling beside her lord immediately, her eyes narrowed and focused on the wound, taking off the coat that Charlie had applied for pressure, but using one hand to hold the bleeding down. "I don't know," Charlie gasped, and somewhere, she marvelled at the broken sound of her voice. "I came - I found him - I don't know, I don't know," she sobbed, leaning over Oliver and stroking his hair. Ambre slapped her hand away.

"Into the carriage. Quickly," the physician ordered, and everything moved from there. As if without thinking, Charlie and Gustauv lifted the lord into their strong arms - and again, her chest tightened at his agonised scream - but they got him into the carriage. Oliver was lain on one of the seats, with Ambre leaning over him immediately. Charlie stood out in the cold and gazed helplessly. "Follow quickly," Gustauv growled, before the carriage careened back the way it came.

Charlie stood there in the snow watching helplessly for a moment. There, her love went. And he might be dead before she returned.

Quickly, Charlie ran to Alana and mounted, before galloping behind.

Seven, she prayed as she rode, with tears dripping down her cheeks. Alana rode towards Notrerevé as though she knew the way home. Let him live.
Image
User avatar
Charlie Warrick
Show me my place in all this.
 
Posts: 95
Joined: Mon Dec 04, 2017 7:07 pm
Race: Human
Renown: +87
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes
Plot Notes
Templates
Medals: 5
First Love (1) Bow Chicka Wow Wow (1) Right In The Feels (2) First Kiss (1)

[Venora] Dreams and Desperation

Postby Oliver Venora » Mon Feb 19, 2018 1:09 pm

Image

The world passed by in a blur, uninhibited by the linear or noticeable progression of time. Colours ran together, the brown of mud, the white of snow, the brownish-yellow of grass struggling to push its way through both in stubborn defiance. It was fuzzy, like looking through eyes that had been pressed on too tightly, and Oliver tried to make sense of it as the world spun around him. The crimson had soaked his clothing, his shirt stuck to him, his pants the wound.

But it was Gustauv's voice that sharpened the world, brought it into stark clarity as the man's untied hair dangled over his face as he leaned over Oliver. Ambre's voice, clear and high pitched, issued an order, and then Oliver was aloft. He could feel the weight of the world pulling down on him, gravity threatening to tear his injured side from his body. He tried to scream, to say something, to tell them not to move him, but nothing came out. His face was frozen in a mask of a silent scream, hard and harsh. Tears had frozen to the sides of his face, and as they loaded him into the wagon, Gustauv unceremoniously brushed them away, not bothering to bring attention to him. Outside his body, Oliver appreciated the man more than he had in his life, grateful for the manservant who loved him as family. He wanted to jump back into his body, to force the failing organs to work long enough to let him thank Gustauv. That was the very least the man deserved.

"Ambre, he's fading. Move the godsdamned horses, now." Gustauv's voice was cold and distant, and he cared about nothing other than his lord just then. She snapped the reigns, but was no master driver. The horses set off at a pace, with Gustauv bouncing between issuing instructions to Ambre on how to drive the carriage, and speaking to Oliver to ensure that he remained conscious.

"You remember the books of your youth, my lord? The one you loved so much about the warrior woman and her husband? Let's talk about that, Oliver. Stay with me. Remember her? Tova? With her mighty Warhammer and insatiable desire to defeat monsters? You always loved her, Oliver. You used to talk about showing the world that you were more than that, more than an adventurer. You wanted to affect change, my lord, on a grander scale than one monster at a time. You wanted to win the hearts of the people, and use that to create a better future. Positive change, my lord, not negative. Fucking Fates, Oliver, stay with me!" Gustauv shouted, loudly enough for Charlie to hear over the thundering of Alanna's hooves.

Oliver's eyelids fluttered, that dark place between living and dying, in the twilight of his life. Outside his body, Oliver wanted to cry, but whatever ethereal shell he was inhabiting was incapable. Instead, he watched the manservant cry over him, the hot and salty tears falling on his skin in splashing droplets. Ambre steered the carriage to the best of her ability, and it only took several bits to return to the estate. The fiery red of Ser Jericho's hair appeared, and as soon as he heard the commotion, he was running to the door to secure the situation.

"What is happen-" he began, before Gustauv poured out of the carriage, blood covering his clothing. Jericho's eyes widened, but the manservant thrust a thumb towards the carriage.

"Get him," the growl came, and Gustauv set off toward the estate house, pushing through the doors with grim determination. He cleared the large dining table of the silken cloth, pulling it back to reveal a rich dark wood beneath. Nodding, he rushed to gather Ambre's supplies, as Jericho single-handedly carried the man inside. He gently laid Oliver on the table, and Charlie arrived at his side. Half-closed eyes melted from shark-black to pastel pink, and the corner of his lip twitched as if to show that he was happy she'd arrived. He tried to speak, but still nothing.

I love you! he wanted to show, to reach through the closing veil to tell her. There he was, covered in blood, and all he thought about was leaving Charlotte alone, bearing the burden of him dying. She had tried. She had done everything she could, and if he died, she would blame herself. So would Ambre. Gustauv would blame Oliver, but not for long. He would blame whomever did it, and he would find the assailant. It would be his life's mission, and Oliver didn't want that for him. Happiness, not vengeance. That's what Gustauv deserved.

Oliver determined not to die then and there, but his body did not seem to agree with him. As Ambre returned, she set her supplies to the side and began her work. She cut the fabric from the way to show the grisly wound, and the physician winced at the deep gash.

"Hot iron, Gustauv. And for the Fates, hold him," she instructed, hers the voice of a ghost. If Oliver felt nothing, he'd feel this...


Image
User avatar
Oliver Venora
The Rising Rose
 
Posts: 124
Joined: Sun Dec 03, 2017 2:13 am
Race: Ithecal
Profession: Noble
Renown: +95
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes
Templates
Medals: 7
First Love (1) Bow Chicka Wow Wow (1) Right In The Feels (3) First Kiss (1)
Puppet Master (1)

[Venora] Dreams and Desperation

Postby Charlie Warrick » Mon Mar 12, 2018 1:56 am

Image
She stood in the silence.

Unable to move, as if all emotion had drained everything from her, she watched the carriage careen away. It was likely that she would have stayed there, still, unmoving, for all time, frozen in this bubble of anguish and loss, if it were not for the desperate shout of Gustauv as the carriage sped away. It was enough to spur Charlie to action. In a leap, she ran back to Alana and quickly mounted her mare.

With a kick to the flanks and a desperate shout, Charlie and Alana ran quickly, as if together they were desperate to be reunited with the dying man. Without the weight of a carriage behind them, they quickly came back in pace with the carriage. She could hear murmurs and shouts from within, but like Ambre, Charlie kept her eyes focused determinedly ahead as they came ever closer to Notrereve.

She dismounted quickly, stumbling a little from the force with which she threw herself from Alana, but it did not stop her. She ran back to the carriage, but Jericho got there first, and with wide eyes, he carried the bleeding Oliver in his arms. Charlie ran beside him, begging as she went. "I'm here, Oli, I'm here, stay with me love, please." The words were a constant stream of desperation, but she could not stop them. They were a balm keeping Charlie's screams of anguish at bay.

As Oliver was laid on the table, she saw his lip twitch as she came beside him, crouching down to stroke her hand over his face. "Yeah, baby,
I'm here, it's okay, you're right here with us."
Hearing Ambre's words with dread, she reached down and held both of Oliver's hands. "It's going to hurt, but I'm here, and it'll be over quickly, I promise." In his delirious state, she was unsure if he would even note the words, understand them,
but she couldn't stop herself from rambling. It was as much for her as it was for him.

Charlie couldn't bring herself to look down, to see the iron being heated and brought from the fire. "Stay with me, Oli, hold my hands, squeeze them." She was interrupted by Gustauv looking grim. "Give him this." It was a leather strap. Swallowing, Charlie leant down and kissed his chapped lips. "Open up, Oli, here. Bite down on this." Guiding his mouth with her hands, she situated the leather strap in his mouth.

She looked down to Ambre and nodded quickly, before turning her attention back to Oliver.

And then Oliver screamed and flesh sizzled.

Pain ricocheted through her hands as Oliver gripped down in pain, and even through the strap, he screamed. Bile rose in her throat but she found she could not speak, lest she vomit on the floor. Instead, tears dripping down her face, she buried her face in his chest, gripping Oliver's hands back in desperation.

She didn't notice how her shoulders were shaking in despair.
Image
User avatar
Charlie Warrick
Show me my place in all this.
 
Posts: 95
Joined: Mon Dec 04, 2017 7:07 pm
Race: Human
Renown: +87
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes
Plot Notes
Templates
Medals: 5
First Love (1) Bow Chicka Wow Wow (1) Right In The Feels (2) First Kiss (1)

Return to Duchies