.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
The stack of clothes rose bigger and bigger as Kyra collected them from the rope and folded them, mindlessly but still noting the humidity of the textiles. The sun was high in the sky, it had shined upon them the last few days with lovely winds accompanying it. It made it easier to ignore the giant cloud that would not be blown away no matter what.
For a few days Kyra romanced the idea of leaving the Red Keep, she in fact dreamed of leaving the Crownlands in a hulking horse of massive structure and wavy white mane whirling around her figure. A creature that made the people turn the other way and its hooves rattled the earth; Kyra drew the impressive sight once awake. She had wished and pleaded to the stars that such a creature could take her, fly away with her but the stars had other petitions to hear first. The girl sighed, who would've thought she would end up stranded in King's Landing. When King Robert had solicited her services, never in a thousand years Kyra would have guessed they would be all at the brink of.
Some days she would forget the imminent promise of the eternal slumber. Kyra continued living fairly comfortably but she did take regard for the people outside the gates. Most of her peers resided in Flea Bottom or had family to support there, it was hard not to perceive the woe and horror. It would take a blind man not to see it but somehow a lot of the noblemen were unfazed by the arrangement. Of course they feared the threat, as of now, within the sanguine walls they were protected and well fed. As a matter of fact the ostentation ever growing, so tangible and cruel Kyra began exploiting it with no regret. Instead of throwing it away or dumping everything to the hogs, at the hour of the owl Kyra and Vida would intercept the food and hand it out. How could anyone look her in the eye and declare it was wrong? When every night Kyra witnesses the gleam in a child's face?
Finished with picking the clothes, Kyra seized the basket to bring them inside. She excused herself as guard crossed her path, dodging as best she could though the pile was blocking her view. The days had restored the same routine, it was weaved into them like fate, and somehow things were steadily shifting. Those were the times Kyra broods over the war. It started with the death of a king and carried out into the succession of another, and another, and another... For some reason, four kings wanted to rest in the most hideous seat of the Seven Kingdoms; Kyra could detect the appeal in the imposing, spectacular image of the throne. Thousands of swords, all of foes and defeated into a single authority but it ought to be tortuous to sit in! At least the King in the North settled for what already belonged to him along with compensation for their grievances.
''Given the treatment of the Stark girl? I would do the same.''
''You, Kyra? You would do the same?'' The servant boy mocked.
They had been talking of the northern battles. Glad just to be in the background, Kyra listened to their exchange of ideas as one believed Robert Stark to be true and the other not much so. The prosecution then declared it was a fruitless effort and only a boy enabling his greed. And Kyra could not just stand by.
''Lord Eddard too.'' The girl insisted on her argument.
''Don't jest.''
The derisive tone did not sit right with her. Kyra was a lot tougher than she looked but for the sake of promoting the progression of the theme, she ignored it.
''Lord Stark has every right to demand recompense.''
''Why? Ned Stark was a traitor.''
Kyra bit her tongue, she knew better. The word traitor had been floating around for weeks, anyone was a traitor nowadays; yet if one were to ask why Lord Eddard was a snake, no one could answer. There were two reasons for that, Kyra had found, they either did not know or they worried of repeating it since it had become treason to question the legitimacy of King Joffrey.
It was safer to accept the rumors as the absolute truth.
Kyra had left the clothes to be dealt with later and went on to clean other regions of the enormous castle. For a while she skipped from one task to the other as servants in need of help wander within her path. It was almost supper when the opportunity to smooth the fabrics presented itself, afterwards Kyra distributed the clothes to the bedchambers. Luckily most inhabitants did not wish to partake in idle conversation due to the hour. She had something else planned, and it involved the clothes Kyra staged to the end of the pile. Red and gold, hanging in the washing line, the clothes attracted her eyes in a split second. By now she even knew all of the highlord's undergarments by heart, unfortunately a highly underrated skill. Except when Kyra discreetly had to sort out Tyrion's clothes so it so happened to be the last stop on her route. Kyra knocked on the door but the excitement turned the girl giddy and foolish; she didn't wait for a response and chanced upon a new figure.
He was a tall man and solid as a tower, upon her entry the man turned half-way to her direction. The leather covering his upper body was well-worn, brown and it was layered with a black ringmail. There was a sword holstered on his belt but the man's hands weren't anywhere near it. About to atone and express her regret, Kyra bowed her head but balked when she noted Tyrion's head peeking around the stranger. Kyra's honey eyes instantly snapped back up, she knitted the brows but accompanied by a puzzled look on her face.
''Kyra, what do I owe the pleasure.''
''Here solemnly on maid duties.'' Kyra answered beckoning to the objects in her hold.
With a good deal of confidence now, Kyra strolled inside the chamber. In a fluid movement, like dancing or taking flight, the girl left the clothes on the table and the vase on the table caught her eye. The floral arrangement needed tending, the plants were already folded over themselves but Tyrion's voice brought her attention back to the men.
''Come meet Bronn.''
The girl complied with the request, Kyra tilted her head to really take in the man; in return Bronn did the same but he gathered rather a sparkle of wittiness in his eye. Resembling some type of accomplice in mischief. Kyra attempted to bow, the default performance she had acquired and more times than not, it worked like a charm. Yet Bronn shook his head.
''Don't give me that shit.'' Bronn held out his hand. ''I'm Bronn, let me guess, you are Kyra.''
A smile grew on her lips, she gladly accepted the salute. Kyra faked a shocked gasp, eyes widened as she spoke. ''How could you tell, my good sir?''
''It's a curse and a craft, the gods just speak to me.''
''Alright, you're overdoing it now...'' Tyrion spoke up.
''There it goes again...'' Bronn quipped.
Kyra couldn't help but chuckle, on a whim she decided to join on the teasing saying she could hear it sometimes too. As the pair continued dismissing Tyrion with the most ridiculous statements, the man braced the goblet of wine he was having earlier and served another for Kyra.
''No fine glass of gold for me?'' Bronn said, finally addressing the lord directly at the prospect of being left empty handed.
''Has the gold I delivered not enough to sate your appetite?'' Tyrion shot back.
''I have... other appetites too.''
Tyrion invited to sit with a placid wave of a hand, and Kyra knew she shouldn't. There were more tasks to perfect around the Keep before she was allowed to retire; though she would be lying to affirm it wasn't exactly what she hoped for. Kyra sat, a leg bent under her bottom, and she propped her chin with the brace of her hands. A full meal presented in front of her, she wondered with a slight crease of brows if they were expecting someone else.
''He is an all-around man, Lord Tyrion. Speaks to the gods.'' Kyra chimed in, a finger traveling to tap her temple mockingly at the expense of the sellsword.
Moving towards the untenanted chair, Bronn stuck a finger in her direction, accusatory. He took a cup that was already served to the seat near Tyrion.
''I was starting to like but now...''
Tyrion filled the cup the other man grasped and Bronn finally joined them. They exchanged a look recapitulating where they left off before Kyra interrupted, without much ceremony the two angled the goblets in a toast. Tyrion forced a smile.
''To the new commander.''
Kyra looked between the two before riveting her eyes on Bronn. The entirety of her features lit up and she raised her glass at the fantastic news. With a hesitant lift of his drink, Bronn silently thanked the girl.
''Commander of the City Watch?''
''Is there any oth'r?'' Bronn retorted.
Never being one to back away from a challenge, Kyra whirled the goblet in her palm, and countered, lacking any malice on her dulcet voice. ''I hear there's a spot ready to vacant for just you, in the Night's Watch.''
Tyrion hid a chuckle behind his glass, and it felt like a privilege. On the other hand, the sellsword coughed out the wine that had blocked the air flow. He turned to Tyrion, affronted by the girl's grit.
''Where have you found this girl?''
''She's a friend.''
''Oh I see. Do you often have your friends without bowl for supper?''
''Oh!''
Upon realizing Tyrion scrambled in his seat, hands vacillating from one side to the other whereas trying to determine what to do first. Kyra's hands drew up in a calming gesture, there was this candid curve to her lips she could not withhold and she reassured it was fine. Tyrion assured he could call someone to bring a bowl but the girl settled for the wine, thus she would eat supper later.
''Wasn't Lord Jad... Janos! Wasn't he the Commander?'' Kyra returned to the subject.
''Yes but he, most regrettably, switched career lanes. In fact, Lord Janos took a page out of your book, dear Kyra, and he's journeying North.'' Tyrion said, sugary shrouding the scorn.
''Taking the black?''
''Afraid so.''
''Good riddance.''
Kyra moved up her glass, as she had no love for the lord either, and her drinking companies followed suit. Taking a big gulp out of the alcohol, Kyra had a shiver travel up her back remembering when she learned about the gold cloaks killing infants and it absolutely disgusted her. Children gutted still in their mothers embrace, such an inglorious act. Many sleepless nights Kyra conjured her children with Robert, dreamlike as one could be, and she imagined them dying for nothing.
Such hurt for nothing but being.
Like a breeze Tyrion's spirits veered, conflicted eyes transversed over the table finally landing on Bronn. His lips stirred a bit but the words weren't really thought out at first, Tyrion canted the goblet towards the sellsword.
''If I told you to murder an infant girl, say, still at her mother's breast, would you do it without question?''
The question was heavy, Kyra could tell, and she would be dishonest to say there wasn't a breath caught in her throat. For Bronn, there wasn't much to ponder about the dilemma.
''Without question? No. I'd ask how much.''
It had truly shocked Kyra even if her face did not betray her for once. It wasn't as if she had collected trust on the sellsword, but Kyra hoped. She hoped for the kindness of men, she believed that inside there was always some humanity and no matter how many years passed Kyra would never comprehend how people could trade that gift for such a foul thing as gold. Ego and greed, that's all. And one day when they were embraced by dirt, those things would not matter, the coins would remain fastened in a trunk and the flesh would root. All it triumphed, by the very end, was hope.
Call her naive, but Kyra believed in goodness. A few days later she told Tyrion just that, he didn't say anything but the girl understood they shared different opinions on the subject. Kyra sighed at the prosper of being underestimated once more, she dropped her head on the footboard, the sound capturing Tyrion's attention. While she sat on the floor with a pillow under, the man was at the table getting some work done.
''What's wrong?'' Tyrion inquired.
''You think me a fool.''
The accusation came without harshness, Kyra plainly stated as a fact she had learned written in stone. In return, Tyrion frowned, letting the papers fall from his hand.
''What makes you say that?''
A sour expression took over Kyra's features, lips tense in a small pout for a brief moment. ''Everyone thinks that.''
''That's not true.''
However, Tyrion didn't get to finish because she was in a row spilling all the pitiful looks shared between other servants when Kyra expressed the favorable outlook on life.
''No, you think I'm a deer heading to the slaughter. I see that sorry look in your eyes, like I don't know anything about life, I do! I know, I'm no fool.''
''Kyra.''
''I want to believe, what's so wrong in that?''
Dropping from the chair, Tyrion approached the girl, hands flying to her cheeks on impulse. His eyes vacillated, going a little wide in a split second but enough for Kyra to notice. Right before her, Kyra can conjure the reflexions going through his plagued eyes, and she wrapped her delicate fingers around the man's wrist just so to prevent quitclaiming. Tyrion stared into her eyes with a puzzled frown but softened by his increased confidence, his fingertips pressed more forcefully into her skin. Nevertheless the touch was affectionate making Kyra go lax under it, it erupted this blooming sensation on her chest she had forgotten. The craving, the worship, all divine concepts Kyra hadn't realized she was missing. Then Tyrion spoke, she felt lightheaded and almost missed it, the voice firm and drenched in syrup.
''It takes a lot of courage to be so loving as you are. I admire that.''
His hands slipped down Kyra's jaw, the girl didn't apprehend when she lost the clunch around Tyrion's wrist. In spite of that, he restored their link and caught her fingers between his own.
''But this is a dangerous place, with dangerous people. I'm afraid kindness does not always prevail within these walls.''
Just as Kyra was acquainted with the embrace, it was gone. The man went back to his affairs, Kyra disconcerted, got to her feet and left the quarters. The colloquy hadn't angered her, on the contrary, she had felt an unexpected tide of understanding. Kyra was seen for the first time in a long while, so much time lurking around the keep turned the girl into an intruder. They crushed Kyra's shoulders and bent her back beneath the weight of that chiffon shield, little it did to protect her but out of fear she relished it and hid. Now coarse skin veered against hers, it warmed her heart and it was preposterous accepting a world where those hands were not anywhere near her.
For the coming days, Kyra didn't keep him company. She could not bear it.
It's the most outlandish feeling, to crave something so much and avoid it all the same. Kyra reckoned it was an habit acquired from the Westerosi, they complicate and condemn sentiment. Desire, affection, love were ridden with shame. Due to cultural beliefs or religious conduct, Kyra could not decipher and it had seemed like madness to repress oneself in such a manner. What kind of gods gifted hearts and demand incarceration for eternity?
However, Kyra had now taken the Westerosi way. It made her furious to flap wings against the metal cage, and the more the feathers brawled the more narrow the space ripped into. It was paradoxically infuriating, for the cage was only in her mind. Yet whenever Kyra considered shed the chiffon shield it made her sick to her stomach, dread had the arm muscles dull and she had to force herself to think about anything else. All by the virtue of Tyrion being a Westerosi man dotted with Westerosi ways.
If there was one thing Kyra had grasped about those men was that they despised love. Bearing one's heart in the open into the hands of another was bidding for a knife to thrust through a still beating flesh and letting the sentiment bleed onto the dirty, lost forever and wasted away.
She avoided Tyrion, until she no longer could. The fateful day came when the Young Wolf won a battle against the Lannister forces. Whispers about the northmen's grotesque nature spread around every corner, Kyra first heard it in Court though. The northern army was declared to be composed of savages that harvest the meat and bones of the southerns' plump bodies. Like cowards during the hour of the wolf, they pounced on their prey.
The ladies of the Court gasped in horror and reached for their pearls. In order to answer the revolt of his subjects, the King brought Sansa Stark before the throne and questioned her in light of her brother's crimes. The girl's pitiful pleads were enough to compel Kyra to leave the room, as well as a hunch things were about to take a sour turn as the mean King reached for the crossbow. The moment she was out of the hall, Kyra's feet rushed to the quarters she had been evading with determination, she didn't even knock or acknowledge Bronn's presence. It was only necessary half a word and Tyrion was dutifully setting course for the throne room just in time to the burst of high pitched scream withholding the panic of the poor girl.
''What is the meaning of this?''
The lord let his words be heard loud and clear with Ser Bronn at his back. Into the room, amongst the crowd, Kyra dispersed. Quiet and discreet as a hummingbird but twice as vigilant of what would follow.
''What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?''
Tyrion continued, accusation tossed in a hushed tone but scolding all the same towards the man standing on the left. In the middle of the ground the sight of lady Stark almost had Kyra whimpering, her gown was ruined, ripped in half exposing her shoulder slumped in defeat; Kyra had the motherly need to comfort her.
Displeased with the remark on his honor, Ser Meryn spat venom back, going as far as to address Tyrion as imp. The man overlooked the attack, demanding instead someone would give Sansa a way to cover herself, gratefully Ser Sandor went to the rescue at once.
''She is to be your queen. Have you no regard for her honor?'' Tyrion argued with the king, deliberated steps taking him nearer the throne.
''I'm punishing her!''
''For what crimes? She did not fight her brother's battle, you halfwit.''
''You can't talk to me like that,'' King Joffrey hoisted his voice, like a child throwing a fit. ''The king can do as he likes!''
Hate was a strong term but as the days went by, Kyra was proven to have such emotions fashioned in her soul. If not for the little monster in front of all of them, she would never have found the gnarled pearls embroidered within. Yes, Kyra was sure she hated him and there was no shame in that.
''The Mad King did as he liked. Has your Uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?''
The counterclaim was quick on the draw, Tyrion had that one tucked in the back of his mind for some time. The meager knight was also brisk at displaying the metal of his sword in defense of the king, Kyra felt a tug at her heart. Not fear for once but vexation boiling at her chest, a grand need to act when being unable to. Once more, Tyrion was not having any of it and retorted with an annoyed tone.
''I'm not threatening the King, ser. I am educating my nephew. Bronn, the next time Ser Meryn speaks, kill him.'' The two knights exchanged a pointed look. ''That was a threat. See the difference?''
Ser Meryn didn't cower or remove his furious grip from the hilt but he also did not dare to open his mouth again. Then Tyrion approached the Stark girl, alike someone advancing on a wounded animal with the intention to heal it, he offered his hand. The room was silent, one could cut the tension with a knife as Sansa Stark's red eyes hover the helping hand. Eventually with a little hesitation at the tip of her fingers, she accepted and left with Tyrion. The King ascending from his seat was the last thing Kyra saw, it delighted her to witness the boy's ire envenoming in his throat. As the lady Stark's handmaidens left behind the pair, Kyra took the chance to mingle amongst them.
Kyra could not hear the commutation between Tyrion and Sansa but her heart blossomed, touched by the kindness in the man's actions. She understood more clearly what exactly he had told her the other day. Kindness is hard with so much hatred puddling around it.
Once outside the throne room, Kyra scattered. The lord had remained behind and had a glimpse of her but upon closer inspection of the hall, Tyrion realized she had vanished into thin air like magic.
That wasn't the afternoon, Kyra and Tyrion reconcile after their small spat. No, because Kyra was on a very important mission, initiated in the kitchen with Vida reluctantly joining. They backed lemon cakes leaving a large portion behind so as to not raise suspicion amongst the rest of the servant. Then Kyra dragged the woman with her to the gardens. Vida was a bundle of nerves clinging to the cakes wrapped in a spotless white cloth, constantly shifting her eyes between the space and Kyra.
''We'll get in much ado, Kyra.''
The girl kneeled near tulips, she paused at the sound of Vida's worry. The candid smile on Kyra's lips wasn't something she could've prevented, she hoped it would transmit some type of comfort.
''It's not the first time you've done this, is't?'' Vida asked in a hushed tone. When Kyra's only was a dubious shake of her head and a laugh, the other gasped. ''Kyra, you mustn't.''
The reprimanded only served to amuse the girl further.
''I don't take them all, the garden would lose its enchantment...''
''Don't matter, you mustn't.''
Kyra jumped up, sprucing the flower arrangement of pink tulips, she disapproved with a shake of her head. Taking Vida's arm, the pair was on their way once more.
''You Westerosi,tsk. Overly uptight, appreciate the grace of nature instead. Smells the flowers, really, smelled them.''
At the sound of Kyra's custom critic, the older woman rolled her eyes. Hence Kyra began thrusting the bouquet in her face, Vida released a joshing laugh warning the aroma to stay away with a wave of her hand. Kyra chuckled along. Upon moving the party to the inside of the keep, they moderated the demeanor and forever Kyra dreaded the moments she had to limit her true nature. The vacancy of their laughter hollowed her heart melancholy shoveling the mirth away, it was a small thing but it made such an impact.
How could they endure life like that?
Kyra prevailed with a languished smile, leading the woman into the last destination of their adventure. Bewilderment rushed to Vida's eyes of gold, she wondered what they were doing outside Sansa Stark's quarters. However, before she could question, Kyra knocked.
No time to lose, Kyra broached the creaking door hoping for sanction regarding the continuation of their journey, Vida had to suppress another gasp due to the sudden actions. Lady Stark had an indignant look, up close the trails on the tears could be viewed at certain lights.
''May we come in, my lady?'' Kyra said.
''I supposed you already have.''
''I'm sorry?''
''You should've waited outside for permission. It is not a proper way to address a lady,'' Lady Stark spited out, voice thick with sorrow. ''Leave.''
With all the best intentions in the world, Kyra tried to urge her to reconsider but not even a word was out and the lady was repeating the order. Kyra bit her lip, there was no resentment in the action; she understood the lady Stark's day hadn't been the best thus Kyra was about to retrieve when Vida stood forcefully in front of the entry.
''We fear'd the mistress wouldn't welcome us and the lemon cakes would waste.''
Lady Stark, who had her back on them to face the mirror in the exact position she had been for hours, turned at the mention of the tidbit. The meek, scared posture of Vida had morphed into a dauntless stance but so warm and sweet. Kyra glanced over to the woman with eyes full of love, she had no faith for the Seven but she was convinced Vida was the reincarnation of the Mother. And Kyra knew for certainty the Mother had fostered another lost child in her embrace.
''Lemon cakes?''
Vida nodded. The lady shifted her legs around the chair, completely facing them now, so they went in and closed the door.
They were mostly quiet during their visit to Lady Stark's quarters and ate cake as Sansa felt silly breaking fast alone. At some point, Kyra gave the flowers to the girl explaining they served to wish for an effortless recovery. She didn't say anything, limited to a polite smile as the lady took the bouquet. So Kyra suggested the lady could share what flowers she liked the most and she would get them to decorate the vessel nigh the mirror; Sansa smiled with her teeth, a more honest reaction and such a pretty sight to behold.
Kyra left the room at dusk but Vida remained behind. She insisted on helping the lady readying for supper, and afterwards she brushed the auburn hair and bid her farewell for the night. Vida returned the next day, and the next.
As for Kyra, the multiple chores keeping the Red Keep running occupied her time the next few days. Only thereafter she could fulfill the urge to reunite with Tyrion, the opportunity befell the day Princess Myrcella departed to Dorne. As a result, she appeared in his chambers like a tropical mist, serene and bashful, her poise drawing all the attention of the sun rays and all the little insects crawling in the cracks and holes on the wall. She was like magic, Tyrion thought.
Unfortunately for the garden damsel, she had not paid attention to the kitchen talk and could not have accounted for Tyrion's state. He was sitting in the middle of the chamber, a cup half empty in one hand and the pitcher in the other, the culprit of the tint of red in his tunic. Objects were thrown around, a fallen chair was set a little further inside the room and wine paddled around it; the most helpless look gathered in Tyrion's features as he glanced over the mess. However, Kyra didn't concern herself with the room, she paced fast to the man's side.
''Are you well?''
He almost missed the question, her voice like a melody that could lull the strongest of men into the deep sea. Tyrion merely nodded at the loss of words, he hoisted the pitcher and hoped Kyra could read minds because he was not fond of describing the drunken tumbling buffon he had just made of himself. In lieu Kyra extended a hand guiding Tyrion to sit on the bed, in spite of his mumble protests she went on to clean the spill.
When she finally joined Tyrion, settling in front of him, he could not rest his gaze off of her. From the time they were apart, although not much, Tyrion was hunted by all sorts of visions of Kyra. In his dreams, in his imagination, in other people's quirks. He heard her laugh, and could smell the peach scent of her dark skin. Tyrion imagined telling her about the day and conjured up what she would comment about all the scheming and lying, she would roll her eyes and trouble herself with more pressing matters. In his mind he saw Kyra dancing around the chambers following a melody only she could know, she would bring new flowers for that damned vase on the table. The withering dark herbs haunted Tyrion's bedtime, but not as much as the inappropriate bearings in which he imagined himself and Kyra every night.
She had him unmade, it wasn't fair.
''What happened?''
Even now she could take it all, Kyra had only to speak the word and he would tear the flesh on his chest open to offer his heart.
''Princess Myrcella left to Dorne.''
If it was the truth Kyra searched with those beautiful distraught eyes, she would get it. Everything and more was hers and she had no idea the power she held.
''Oh, that was today? Are you sad because the princess is gone?''
''No.'' Tyrion chuckled, no humor in the action. ''She's most likely safer than any of us. We are losing the war, and it prowls closer to us everyday.''
The man's gaze became tormented, miles away from the keep. It was like Tyrion was seeing the battle, the ash and blood, he almost flinched at the sound of swords clashing and men dying. They had a plan, he was orchestrating what could be their salvation but at what avail? What good was surviving a battle just to suffer at the hands of more cruel rules?
Tyrion felt truly defenseless to their dire circumstances. He reached out for Kyra's hand in a firm brace, which she returned. Tyrion could not protect her.
''Myrcella will be safe in Dorne. For the rest of us...''
The girl smiled ready to reassure Tyrion all would be bright yet he didn't let her. At that moment, he might be drunk but one thing was clear: there was so much to lose.
''Leave. You need to leave King's Landing and never turn back.''
''No.''
''What do you mean... Kyra, listen to me.''
''No.''
More forcefully than before, Kyra squeezed his hand in order to pull him down from the dark cloud he had made home. The bleak visions of the future would not bring comfort or advice, it would smother them high in the clouds; Kyra needed him here. Down on earth alongside her to fight whatever might come.
''For as long as I remember I have been seeking peace. My home is my own soul but I had to see, I had to know if there was some place out here where I would be welcomed in.'' Kyra said, in a confessional whisper.
''And?''
''I feel welcomed here.''
With you.
The next morning, Tyrion's memory had blanks and spaces stained by the wine. He was alone in bed, he sighed and wondered if it had all been another dream sneaking up on his drunken state. However, that morning the vase had been changed and the barren skeletons of the flowers were replaced with a freshly picked bouquet of anthuriums.
He touched his cheek and smiled. He remembered Kyra doting him with a kiss.
NOTES
hi! I have not proofread this bc I don't wanna. the word on the street is chapter two has 5k words and I am a lazy fool 😌 Hope you like this anyways, just soft and lovebirds in love, denying they are in love 💗 idiots to lovers representation we need
thank you for reading, have a day <3
the beautiful picture above does not belong to me btw. and once again I could not find an anthurium yey