'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
♱
'You are beautiful, you are glorious Now you're, you're covered in loser dust You are fabulous, you are gorgeous Now you're, you're covered in loser dust And all the things I used to trust, yeah All the things I'm about to crush Your youth is gone, it's turned to rust It's all covered in loser dust.'
CW: aftermath of last chapter, nothing too heavy in terms of description, etc.
Hera awoke with a start, her hands cradling her hips to make sure she was still clothed and that everything was... intact. She caught sight of her reflection in the stream beside her and sighed dejectedly.
When she noticed the rips in her dress and the dark bruises on her arms and breasts, she choked back a sob, feeling so unbelievably disconnected from her body and self.
The filthy 'morning after' had settled in, only it was nothing like one she'd ever experienced. There was no wretched walk of shame, for the shame resided not in her outward appearance but somewhere much deeper, and more so in her mind.
Hera sighed, thinking she could never see her lace stockings and it would be too soon. As much as she wanted to rid of what she was wearing and rid him of her body, she didn't dare go back into the castle. She worried she'd never be able to rid his face from her mind...
All of the dark makeup she was wearing had streamed down her cheeks, and her red lipstick remained smudged around her mouth — and not in a good way. She knew she looked awful, but her appearance was far from the top of her priorities right now.
Hera's frown did not wholly vanish, though it did shift when she saw the same dog from before laying further away than she could remember but more still than she could ever hope to gain from her sleeping. In a way, Hera wondered if it was protecting her, and that was a nice thought — especially after last nights events.
She tilted her head to get a better look at the stream from before, now illuminated by the early sun and a melting layer of sleet on the flowerbeds surrounding it. A baby sparrow hopped between the light, snow-capped trees, its mother following shortly after a dead worm in her beak.
