the devil is not as black as he is painted
"Does it need to?" She asks simply, placing the painting down onto the stones where it melds against them; Aoife's masterpiece forever cemented as part of the shrine.
"Make sense, I mean." Safrin adds with a soft shrug. Her fingertips move to softly brush the curve of Ronin's jaw, then slide along the flat of his cheek, her thumbs stroking the swell of bone beneath his eyes. "What would it even mean for things to make sense?"
"Make sense, I mean." Safrin adds with a soft shrug. Her fingertips move to softly brush the curve of Ronin's jaw, then slide along the flat of his cheek, her thumbs stroking the swell of bone beneath his eyes. "What would it even mean for things to make sense?"
