solid gold, fourteen carat, barely burnished despite twenty years of hard molling. but beneath it, i knew, beneath that gold & stardust, she was all grit and sharp teeth gnashing, head twisting, talons out, tearing flesh.
make me queen
private, selective, independent blair waldorf.
or i'll make you bleed
you have to decide who you are, little girl, she told me once. once you know that, everyone else will too.
“ Nah, I’m not in the cult life anymore,” he told her with a chuckle, pushing open the door to the coffee shot and bracing himself as warmth billowed out onto the street. He glanced at her, holding the door open for her with a smirk on his lips. “ Could you see my grandmother putting up with that? No chance – but I’m adapting.”
❛ pity – ❜ dry tone infiltrates soprano flux , gracious smile spreading across cold-reddened lips as a silent thank you ; ❛ thank goodness for that - at least we don’t need to worry about you showing up to school on monday draped in a white sheet . ❜ near skip of decadently clad figure flooded with sudden warmness , heels clicking against tiled floor as slender form approaches a table .
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