☾❦✢𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚✢❦☽

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The soft texture had always soothed him, feeling the plush yet firm softness always brought comfort to the blonde, something that he didn't know how he was living before being exposed to such an experience

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

The soft texture had always soothed him, feeling the plush yet firm softness always brought comfort to the blonde, something that he didn't know how he was living before being exposed to such an experience.

As the soft pads of his fingertips roamed the area, memorizing each and every crevasse that was bestowed to him in such a grand display, he couldn't help himself as he basked in this ethereal sight before him.

His face couldn't stay neutral at this, for a soft smile donned his own perfectly sculpted features, a given especially around her, his most beloved.

His fingers traced shapeless swirls around her silk-textured skin, encasing every feeling and embedding it within his core memory through his senses,

His touch encased the smoothness and softness of her perfect skin.

His sight, seeing this angel in the early morning sunlight would be an image heaven had to have sent down itself.

His scent, the crisp morning air that roamed around the room, the slight natural smell of ivy plants, and a dash of honey

His taste, the air almost tasted sweet even though there was nothing to cause such sweetness it was inviting nonetheless.

His hearing, the soft snores of slumber from the beauty before him, could only match the rhythmic patter of his own heart beating just as softly in his own chest as she breathes at a constant pace rivaling his own soft breathing.

How he loved her, How he cared for her, how could he have known an entire life without this magnificent being before him, for he would never know nor would he ever understand, life before this was seen in a filter of red, one of rage and such coldness that only one cut from the same cloth would understand.

Or at least that's what he used to believe, now thinking back on it, it almost seemed childish to have all of this unkempt rage built in fueling his own rage machine, only alive for a singular purpose and goal.

Yet now he doesn't see in just red anymore, he sees things in such a grand golden light, such a warm and inviting light that causes him to sometimes forget all the rage and despair he had been through in order to be the person he is today.

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