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β’β’ n a m e : xxxRyu Se-Ri
β’β’ a l i a s : xxλμ‘μ΄ (nunsongi meaning 'snowflake')
β’β’ h u m a nxxn a m e : xxxPark Jin-sol
β’β’ a g e : xxxtwo hundred and ninety eight
β’β’ s e x u a l i t y : xxxdemisexual ; panromantic
β’β’ c o u r t : xxxwinter
β’β’ r o l e : xxxseekerxxx
β’β’ p r i m a r yxxp o w e r : xxxwater
β’β’ s e c o n d a r yxxp o w e r : xxxweather, memory
β’β’ t h o u g h txxc o l o u r : xxx#d89f9f
β’β’ d i a l o g u exxc o l o u r : xxx#bf6060
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
ββββββββββββββββββββββββa slow sense of strangeness slowly began to possess me
ββββββββββββββββββββββββa slow sense of strangeness slowly began to possess me
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β’β’ a p p e a r a n c e
S H E xxxlooks a fae, with her delicate hanbok floating about her. She is a cherry blossom, caught in water, she floats silently, prettily, a source of artistic inspiration. Poetry. Her heart is heavy, but still she does not sink.
I N T R I C A T E xxxare the runes and symbols that arrange themselves like a web across her body. They traipse across her fair flesh, endlessly labyrinthine, tear tracks along the lengths of her fingers, which themselves end in nails just a touch too sharp for a human. Her face's symmetry is only enhanced by the marks, which curl about her edges like the parting case of a blooming flower. When in human form, these tattoos vanish, revealing the fair skin beneath. Although her slight frame doesn't change much in shape, and remains at her height of 5'6", her flowing hanbok is stripped away, leaving in its place whatever contemporary human fashions happen to appeal to her. Likewise, her ebony, oribi-esque horns vanish from their place on her crown, where they peek through her hair.
F E A T H E R Y xxxlocks of brown frame her face, curling into a short bob about her jaw, and, as she shifts in form, the brown of her eyes becomes less transient, more static. Before, the colour had a penchant for shifting between ochre, mahogany, ebony. The sparklings of goldleaf fade into something more subtle, less vivid. When in human form, all of her edges seem to soften. She shifts from shards of glass to carefully crafted clay. Her ears, with their pointed, elfish edges, curve to sea shells, and the ends of her fingernails smoothen into neat crescent moons. She is no less light-looking, no less graceful, but one fears being cut far less; perhaps foolishly.
H E R xxxair is somewhat contradictory, falling somewhere between spectre and goddess. She carries a firmness in her gaze, reminiscent of a cat, all curiosity and contemplation. There is a fortitude to it, one that contradicts her otherwise delicate appearance, and a sense of assuredness stands steadfast behind gold-laced irises. Do not doubt me. They say, or perhaps beg, for everyone yearns for recognition, but sometimes even the most deserving are forgotten.
S H E xxxlooks a fae, with her delicate hanbok floating about her. She is a cherry blossom, caught in water, she floats silently, prettily, a source of artistic inspiration. Poetry. Her heart is heavy, but still she does not sink.
I N T R I C A T E xxxare the runes and symbols that arrange themselves like a web across her body. They traipse across her fair flesh, endlessly labyrinthine, tear tracks along the lengths of her fingers, which themselves end in nails just a touch too sharp for a human. Her face's symmetry is only enhanced by the marks, which curl about her edges like the parting case of a blooming flower. When in human form, these tattoos vanish, revealing the fair skin beneath. Although her slight frame doesn't change much in shape, and remains at her height of 5'6", her flowing hanbok is stripped away, leaving in its place whatever contemporary human fashions happen to appeal to her. Likewise, her ebony, oribi-esque horns vanish from their place on her crown, where they peek through her hair.
F E A T H E R Y xxxlocks of brown frame her face, curling into a short bob about her jaw, and, as she shifts in form, the brown of her eyes becomes less transient, more static. Before, the colour had a penchant for shifting between ochre, mahogany, ebony. The sparklings of goldleaf fade into something more subtle, less vivid. When in human form, all of her edges seem to soften. She shifts from shards of glass to carefully crafted clay. Her ears, with their pointed, elfish edges, curve to sea shells, and the ends of her fingernails smoothen into neat crescent moons. She is no less light-looking, no less graceful, but one fears being cut far less; perhaps foolishly.
H E R xxxair is somewhat contradictory, falling somewhere between spectre and goddess. She carries a firmness in her gaze, reminiscent of a cat, all curiosity and contemplation. There is a fortitude to it, one that contradicts her otherwise delicate appearance, and a sense of assuredness stands steadfast behind gold-laced irises. Do not doubt me. They say, or perhaps beg, for everyone yearns for recognition, but sometimes even the most deserving are forgotten.
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββgood morning heartache. youβre like an old friend, come to see me again
ββββββββββββββββββββββββββgood morning heartache. youβre like an old friend, come to see me again
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β’β’ p e r s o n a l i t y
M e l a n c h o l y xxxis a purposeful kind of woe, not so much sadness as somber pensiveness, and even in her brightest moments, it touches her. It has long since settled under her surface, its roots outstretched and invading every crevice of her earth. She hides it as well as she could possibly hope to, with cherry blossom smiles and a vivacious wit, and yet, like a winter chill, like the phantom pain of a limb lost, or a wound healed. With this apparently inherent pensiveness comes a proneness to rumination, and she often falls into deep thought when left to her own devices. She tends to overthink things, troubling over passing comments, cringing weeks later from brief embarrassments everyone else has forgotten, harshly critiquing herself for mistakes no one else recalls her making. Mistakes are a dangerous thing to make, as far as she is concerned, and they define someone with her history (that is to say, her brother's) far too easily for her to allow herself leeway in her self-display of apparent perfection.
M a c h i a v e l l i a n xxx in her sagacity, and she has only benefited. Her wit is the thorn to her rose, a harsh, survivalist addition to the prettiness of the rest of her. In this brutal utopia, such protections are a necessity, and she knows that, so she wields her thorns wisely. All the while reigning in a slightly vindictive nature that seems to have run in the family. Instead of violence, she wounds with words, striking at points of pride, investigating characters for weaknesses. But she does not initiate. She lets them strike as they wish too, reaching out to pluck the flowers; she does not apologise when their fingers catch, and blood spills. She only offers them that infuriating gaze, that glimmer of smug satisfaction that inevitably frustrates. Sometimes (often), she fans the flames further, offering up one of the sharp quips that she has long-since been able to produce in swift succession. She is unapologetic, sometimes to her detriment.
W i n t e r xxxhas yet to cool her as it does many other fae of the court, and in spite the harsh winters and her love for snow and rain, her heart has always retained its warmth. Compassion blossoms from her with almost a exasperated resignation, as she struggles to turn away from injustice. There is a tenderness to her, and it is that tenderness that prevents her from becoming a political Iago. Perhaps this is a shame, for she, with her machiavellian mind, could do great things. Or terrible things. Regardless, she would likely be able to twist herself around to be the beneficiary. Then again, perhaps she is more Othello, anyway, so full is she with a desperation to do and be better, to escape her demons, to free herself from her past and to rid herself of a self-loathing she refuses to acknowledge she possesses. Fae are forbidden from interacting with the human world, which is a shame; for the piece of literature is riddled with opportunity for self-reflection. Best to do it sooner rather than later, for to share such an ending would be unfortunate.
C y n i c i s m xxxdoes not dictate her the way it should, given her circumstances. Try as she might to resist it, hope engages her in a way that pessimism (or is it realism?) does not. It is not so much a naivety, or refusal to acknowledge reality, but rather a desperation to change it. When one lives for centuries, one quickly acknowledges that change is constant. The world, nor its inhabitants, are ever truly stationary. And thus she progresses. She digs her own grave with her lack of fear, her willingness to approach, to protect, to demand. Even when softened by her runaway emotions, which she often keeps hidden and unexposed, there is a strength to her. Every impossible situation turns to unstoppable force meeting immovable object, such is her will. Her passion bleeds out, even when she tries to distill it, and somewhere along the line, she somewhat succumbed to the reality that her convictions control her, and not the other way around. Her pride often wishes she were colder, less easy to incite emotion from, but alas, she is far too caught in contemplation to obtain the necessary chill. She may be a fae of the Winter Court, but there is no denying the fire within her, constantly burning hot, and threatening to burn her up with it.
M e l a n c h o l y xxxis a purposeful kind of woe, not so much sadness as somber pensiveness, and even in her brightest moments, it touches her. It has long since settled under her surface, its roots outstretched and invading every crevice of her earth. She hides it as well as she could possibly hope to, with cherry blossom smiles and a vivacious wit, and yet, like a winter chill, like the phantom pain of a limb lost, or a wound healed. With this apparently inherent pensiveness comes a proneness to rumination, and she often falls into deep thought when left to her own devices. She tends to overthink things, troubling over passing comments, cringing weeks later from brief embarrassments everyone else has forgotten, harshly critiquing herself for mistakes no one else recalls her making. Mistakes are a dangerous thing to make, as far as she is concerned, and they define someone with her history (that is to say, her brother's) far too easily for her to allow herself leeway in her self-display of apparent perfection.
M a c h i a v e l l i a n xxx in her sagacity, and she has only benefited. Her wit is the thorn to her rose, a harsh, survivalist addition to the prettiness of the rest of her. In this brutal utopia, such protections are a necessity, and she knows that, so she wields her thorns wisely. All the while reigning in a slightly vindictive nature that seems to have run in the family. Instead of violence, she wounds with words, striking at points of pride, investigating characters for weaknesses. But she does not initiate. She lets them strike as they wish too, reaching out to pluck the flowers; she does not apologise when their fingers catch, and blood spills. She only offers them that infuriating gaze, that glimmer of smug satisfaction that inevitably frustrates. Sometimes (often), she fans the flames further, offering up one of the sharp quips that she has long-since been able to produce in swift succession. She is unapologetic, sometimes to her detriment.
W i n t e r xxxhas yet to cool her as it does many other fae of the court, and in spite the harsh winters and her love for snow and rain, her heart has always retained its warmth. Compassion blossoms from her with almost a exasperated resignation, as she struggles to turn away from injustice. There is a tenderness to her, and it is that tenderness that prevents her from becoming a political Iago. Perhaps this is a shame, for she, with her machiavellian mind, could do great things. Or terrible things. Regardless, she would likely be able to twist herself around to be the beneficiary. Then again, perhaps she is more Othello, anyway, so full is she with a desperation to do and be better, to escape her demons, to free herself from her past and to rid herself of a self-loathing she refuses to acknowledge she possesses. Fae are forbidden from interacting with the human world, which is a shame; for the piece of literature is riddled with opportunity for self-reflection. Best to do it sooner rather than later, for to share such an ending would be unfortunate.
C y n i c i s m xxxdoes not dictate her the way it should, given her circumstances. Try as she might to resist it, hope engages her in a way that pessimism (or is it realism?) does not. It is not so much a naivety, or refusal to acknowledge reality, but rather a desperation to change it. When one lives for centuries, one quickly acknowledges that change is constant. The world, nor its inhabitants, are ever truly stationary. And thus she progresses. She digs her own grave with her lack of fear, her willingness to approach, to protect, to demand. Even when softened by her runaway emotions, which she often keeps hidden and unexposed, there is a strength to her. Every impossible situation turns to unstoppable force meeting immovable object, such is her will. Her passion bleeds out, even when she tries to distill it, and somewhere along the line, she somewhat succumbed to the reality that her convictions control her, and not the other way around. Her pride often wishes she were colder, less easy to incite emotion from, but alas, she is far too caught in contemplation to obtain the necessary chill. She may be a fae of the Winter Court, but there is no denying the fire within her, constantly burning hot, and threatening to burn her up with it.
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
βββββββββββββsentences swallowed and sung back and swallowed all over again. she was made entirely out of words
βββββββββββββsentences swallowed and sung back and swallowed all over again. she was made entirely out of words
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β’β’ l i k e s
flower crowns xxxrain.xxxchocolate (especially mouse).xxxtrivia and brainteasers.xxxpeaches and nectarines.xxxsilver jewellery.xxxpetrichor.xxxnovels.xxxoversized clothes.xxx"pretty" words (words like ephemeral, catharsis and numinous).xxxstargazing.xxxwildflowers.xxxsecond-hand embarrassment.xxxmaking lists.xxxtraditional Asian clothing.xxxplaying the piano.xxxthe corner seats of cafes.xxxwriting.xxxdebate.xxxpoetry.xxxbeing lied to.xxxphilosophy.xxxmuseums.xxxhonesty.xxxsunsets and sunrises.
β’β’ d i s l i k e s
mushrooms.xxxsummer weather.xxxsmoking.xxxexcessive violence.xxxsourfoods.xxxguns.xxxignorance.xxxvinegar.xxxgossip and rumours.xxxarrogance.xxxinjustices, big and small.xxxdouble standards.xxxpoor hygiene.xxxbigotry.xxxcrude humour.xxxher brother's 'legacy'.xxxself-doubt.
flower crowns xxxrain.xxxchocolate (especially mouse).xxxtrivia and brainteasers.xxxpeaches and nectarines.xxxsilver jewellery.xxxpetrichor.xxxnovels.xxxoversized clothes.xxx"pretty" words (words like ephemeral, catharsis and numinous).xxxstargazing.xxxwildflowers.xxxsecond-hand embarrassment.xxxmaking lists.xxxtraditional Asian clothing.xxxplaying the piano.xxxthe corner seats of cafes.xxxwriting.xxxdebate.xxxpoetry.xxxbeing lied to.xxxphilosophy.xxxmuseums.xxxhonesty.xxxsunsets and sunrises.
β’β’ d i s l i k e s
mushrooms.xxxsummer weather.xxxsmoking.xxxexcessive violence.xxxsourfoods.xxxguns.xxxignorance.xxxvinegar.xxxgossip and rumours.xxxarrogance.xxxinjustices, big and small.xxxdouble standards.xxxpoor hygiene.xxxbigotry.xxxcrude humour.xxxher brother's 'legacy'.xxxself-doubt.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
βββββββββββββββwe know so much and we know nothing, absolutely nothing, nothing at all
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
βββββββββββββββwe know so much and we know nothing, absolutely nothing, nothing at all
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β’β’ s t r e n g t h s
I n t e l l e c t xxxsimply said, Se-ri is very, very intelligent. Whilst her capacity for cunning is nothing if not Machiavellian, her intelligence also bleeds into so-called 'book-smarts', and she has a great understanding and comprehension for a great many things, from sciences to history to literature. She is constantly getting smarter, too, for she is passionate about both learning and about self-improvement, and thus engages in such as often as possible.
C o u r a g e xxxher fear, it seems, only strengthens her. She works well in environments where she is afraid, for there is a bravery to her that only permits itself to be wielded in such moments. She is oddly fiery for a winter fae, and attempts at intimidation only seem to make her fiercer.
M u s i c a l i t y xxxshe used to be quite fond of singing, and even went so far as to perform at gatherings. Now she tends to keep her voice to herself, instead expressing herself through her playing of fae instruments, many of which she has developed a mastery of over the years.
D e b a t e / p u b l i cxls p e a k i n g xxxbasically, she is good at arguing. Whatever insecurities may lurk under the surface vanish when she is speaking, and when passion ignites her, a confidence appears that is equal parts impressive and charismatic.
I n t e l l e c t xxxsimply said, Se-ri is very, very intelligent. Whilst her capacity for cunning is nothing if not Machiavellian, her intelligence also bleeds into so-called 'book-smarts', and she has a great understanding and comprehension for a great many things, from sciences to history to literature. She is constantly getting smarter, too, for she is passionate about both learning and about self-improvement, and thus engages in such as often as possible.
C o u r a g e xxxher fear, it seems, only strengthens her. She works well in environments where she is afraid, for there is a bravery to her that only permits itself to be wielded in such moments. She is oddly fiery for a winter fae, and attempts at intimidation only seem to make her fiercer.
M u s i c a l i t y xxxshe used to be quite fond of singing, and even went so far as to perform at gatherings. Now she tends to keep her voice to herself, instead expressing herself through her playing of fae instruments, many of which she has developed a mastery of over the years.
D e b a t e / p u b l i cxls p e a k i n g xxxbasically, she is good at arguing. Whatever insecurities may lurk under the surface vanish when she is speaking, and when passion ignites her, a confidence appears that is equal parts impressive and charismatic.
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β’β’ w e a k n e s s e s
V i n d i c t i v e xxxshe is someone that does not forgive easily, and certainly never forgets. Although she has tried for the last two-and-a-bit centuries to resist her urge to get back at people, to let go and to be the 'better person', she finds that she struggles immensely, and seldom resists seeking some form of revenge.
I n s e c u r i t y xxxSe-ri is relentlessly bludgeoned by self-doubt. It bleeds into everything, but is most prominent in her personal relationships. She is terrified of rejection, betrayal and abandonment, but her views of herself have left her with a tendency to presume such things will likely happen should she become naive enough to expect them not to. It also is a partial reason why she works so hard to achieve; she is comforted by the recognition of her efforts, and such achievements.
P o k e r f a c e xxxshe will never be a gambler, for even when she tries to keep a neutral expression, so often is it touched by little ticks and glimmers of emotion that such attempts should always be considered futile. Fae cannot lie, but apparently, her inability to perform any sort of untruth goes the extra mile, to her endless chagrin.
S e l f - a w a r e n e s s xxxfor someone as introverted as she, Se-ri struggles to understand herself, and why she is the way she is. She constantly fails at taking care of herself, even to the point of not noticing when she is hurting, she tends to draw completely false conclusions from aspects of herself.
V i n d i c t i v e xxxshe is someone that does not forgive easily, and certainly never forgets. Although she has tried for the last two-and-a-bit centuries to resist her urge to get back at people, to let go and to be the 'better person', she finds that she struggles immensely, and seldom resists seeking some form of revenge.
I n s e c u r i t y xxxSe-ri is relentlessly bludgeoned by self-doubt. It bleeds into everything, but is most prominent in her personal relationships. She is terrified of rejection, betrayal and abandonment, but her views of herself have left her with a tendency to presume such things will likely happen should she become naive enough to expect them not to. It also is a partial reason why she works so hard to achieve; she is comforted by the recognition of her efforts, and such achievements.
P o k e r f a c e xxxshe will never be a gambler, for even when she tries to keep a neutral expression, so often is it touched by little ticks and glimmers of emotion that such attempts should always be considered futile. Fae cannot lie, but apparently, her inability to perform any sort of untruth goes the extra mile, to her endless chagrin.
S e l f - a w a r e n e s s xxxfor someone as introverted as she, Se-ri struggles to understand herself, and why she is the way she is. She constantly fails at taking care of herself, even to the point of not noticing when she is hurting, she tends to draw completely false conclusions from aspects of herself.
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β’β’ m a g i cxx&xxe q u i p m e n t
P r i m a r y xxxSe-ri's hold over the element of water is a frightening to behold, or, at least, it would be, were she to be struck by rage or aggression. Fortunately, she seldom is. Se-ra's hold over water allows her to sense it in all things; the air, the earth, even the blood flowing through the veins of the people around her. Water is a life source; one of the most valuable things in existence, the key to survival itself. Thus, Se-ri is dangerous, able to manipulate that life source as she wishes, able to give it... or take it away.
W e a t h e r xxxlargely involuntary, the weather often shifts with her mood rather than her choice. Joy brings thunderstorms, whilst intense anger brings harsh winds. Her states of melancholy tend to draw in grey, turning weather overcast. Any actual wilful control of the weather is very straining, often leaving her with terrible headaches or in a state of exhaustion. The involuntary nature of this secondary ability is perhaps why her primary ability is quite so powerful.
E q u i p m e n t xxx -
P r i m a r y xxxSe-ri's hold over the element of water is a frightening to behold, or, at least, it would be, were she to be struck by rage or aggression. Fortunately, she seldom is. Se-ra's hold over water allows her to sense it in all things; the air, the earth, even the blood flowing through the veins of the people around her. Water is a life source; one of the most valuable things in existence, the key to survival itself. Thus, Se-ri is dangerous, able to manipulate that life source as she wishes, able to give it... or take it away.
W e a t h e r xxxlargely involuntary, the weather often shifts with her mood rather than her choice. Joy brings thunderstorms, whilst intense anger brings harsh winds. Her states of melancholy tend to draw in grey, turning weather overcast. Any actual wilful control of the weather is very straining, often leaving her with terrible headaches or in a state of exhaustion. The involuntary nature of this secondary ability is perhaps why her primary ability is quite so powerful.
E q u i p m e n t xxx -
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
ββββββββββββββββββββββββi could almost reach out and touch it, this nameless thing i wanted so badly
ββββββββββββββββββββββββi could almost reach out and touch it, this nameless thing i wanted so badly
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β’β’ h i s t o r y
W e xxxonly have each other, is what was silently said. Known, acknowledged, accepted. We've got no one else. So who can blame her for the pain felt when this promise was broken? When he chose himself and his cause over her? When he left her alone? We only have each other.. Well, now they didn't have even that. Exiled to the human world, the last time she saw her brother, he was taken away for questioning. I'll be right back, See. There's a reason Se-ri hates liars.
R i s e xxx, she told herself, when all seemed to turn on her, to stamp spitefully at her fingers, trying to make her fall. Treason is a despicable thing to fae, and to humans too, and although she was not guilty of it herself, she may as well have been. The actions of her brother had left a permanent stain on her reputation, and every day since he left, she spent her time scrubbing. With every victory won, every relationship formed, every move made, the stain faded a little. Never quite vanishing, sometimes brash actions or snide comments would pigment it once more; the shame would rise, along with that constant bitterness,
that remorseless melancholy.
P e r f e c t i o n xxxis what she strove for, nothing more, nothing less. She became so skilled in the art of rising that it's a wonder she didn't grow wings from sheer willpower. The fae marred by a treasonous reputation somehow became legendary for something more than her unfortunate familial circumstances. Her name became synonymous with more than duplicity, but instead ascendence. She caught the political eye, conferred with nobles, engaged with patricians, bonded with royals. She became trusted by the very royals her brother sought to invalidate. Initially mocked.
H u m a n k i n d xxxhave always loved an underdog, and fae are no better. There was and is something so engaging about someone who wins the game, even with the cards stacked against them. She's never been the gambling type, but she knows better than to fold now. She's come too far, and,
popularity aside, it is a delicate position she is in. Always a balancing act, this desire to both better the world and better oneself and one's position; too often do these accomplishments prove to be mutually exclusive. Here she is, harassed by difficult decisions and impossible choices. And all the while, still scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing at a stain that won't go away.
W e xxxonly have each other, is what was silently said. Known, acknowledged, accepted. We've got no one else. So who can blame her for the pain felt when this promise was broken? When he chose himself and his cause over her? When he left her alone? We only have each other.. Well, now they didn't have even that. Exiled to the human world, the last time she saw her brother, he was taken away for questioning. I'll be right back, See. There's a reason Se-ri hates liars.
R i s e xxx, she told herself, when all seemed to turn on her, to stamp spitefully at her fingers, trying to make her fall. Treason is a despicable thing to fae, and to humans too, and although she was not guilty of it herself, she may as well have been. The actions of her brother had left a permanent stain on her reputation, and every day since he left, she spent her time scrubbing. With every victory won, every relationship formed, every move made, the stain faded a little. Never quite vanishing, sometimes brash actions or snide comments would pigment it once more; the shame would rise, along with that constant bitterness,
that remorseless melancholy.
P e r f e c t i o n xxxis what she strove for, nothing more, nothing less. She became so skilled in the art of rising that it's a wonder she didn't grow wings from sheer willpower. The fae marred by a treasonous reputation somehow became legendary for something more than her unfortunate familial circumstances. Her name became synonymous with more than duplicity, but instead ascendence. She caught the political eye, conferred with nobles, engaged with patricians, bonded with royals. She became trusted by the very royals her brother sought to invalidate. Initially mocked.
H u m a n k i n d xxxhave always loved an underdog, and fae are no better. There was and is something so engaging about someone who wins the game, even with the cards stacked against them. She's never been the gambling type, but she knows better than to fold now. She's come too far, and,
popularity aside, it is a delicate position she is in. Always a balancing act, this desire to both better the world and better oneself and one's position; too often do these accomplishments prove to be mutually exclusive. Here she is, harassed by difficult decisions and impossible choices. And all the while, still scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing at a stain that won't go away.
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βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββif it weren't so perilous, maybe we wouldn't crave it so much
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββif it weren't so perilous, maybe we wouldn't crave it so much
c h a r a c t e rxxs h e e txbyxxxlayla
f a c e c l a i mxxxPark So Dam
p l a y e dxxb yxxxrubytuesday
f a c e c l a i mxxxPark So Dam
p l a y e dxxb yxxxrubytuesday
