ah, what fidelity.

      ❝Miss Nero! Could you come take a look--?❞

      Viridescent hues flick toward the doorway of the prodigious room, the current arrangement where it is she is to rest accordingly. Spring comes forth with no regards to preparation, the cleanliness of the household coming into question whilst those of maids skitter about in their utmost to cleanse each chamber thoroughly, restoring the pristine conditions it once retained. Bare feet plod tenderly against glimmering tiles before passing beyond the threshold to her room.

      Her mouth opens to inquire of what they required, only to perceive the one who hailed her pointing at an peculiar, ornate vial that sits atop the alabaster nightstand. Loosely her right wrist flicks, prompting this specific maid to step aside so she might move forward to examine the foreign object. Arms cross, eyes analyzing each carve in the glass which contains the carmine liquid, perfectly still as if having stood there without disturbance. Ah, but curious she does grow. Thus, a hand extends, taking careful hold to rest within her palm as she lifts it.

      Leisurely are the hours that trickle by, the brisk buss of eventide peppering the citizens whom trek about on their journeys home. Rays peer over the horizon whilst streetlamps flicker, seeping through the panes of window which permit onlooker to admire each passing figure which floats with poise in their rehearsal. One woman stands among them, carmine garments draping over such a petite frame whilst palms press upon her protruding hip. Censorious is her mien, viridescent hues closing in the deliverance of a single, dissatisfied breath.

      ❝Is there no finesse to these steps? Can you not master, so simply, this choreography? Synchronize, become one amidst each other in this display of your talent, lack not passion! A mere mishandle of colorant ruins such artwork, brimming with pulchritude, upon the canvas.❞ Vocables bark the notions of their practices that weigh upon this artistical mind. Swift does she wave aside the musician whom sits before the piano, commanding he cease his keystrokes in her motion of stepping forward.

      Several eyes accumulate where she stands, observing delicate digits slip upon the waist. Beneath her grasp is a woman of darkened hair, the one hailed the star of this theatrical piece opposite her very own role. ❝Erratic you are, fluent you must become,❞ she coos, applying minuscule pressure to undulate an exemplary display for the others to become educated. Running bare fingers along the skin she bares, she retreats to the sidelines once more in vehement anticipation.

THE HAND KISS

      Appreciation, though needed not, must be proffered unto those most deserving. There is no uncertainty that one brimming in wait for such opulent praises is one whom has stood beside her, boasting of her magnificent aptitude for fine art. Thusly she saunters into the office of the renown man, donned in threads of finely woven emerald which affirms his spectacular presence. ❝Salve Lorem, Praetor,❞ she greets, masculine tone hinting to how presently pleased she is to converse with him once more. Coral lips turn upward into an alluring smile of gratification to herself, as if already commending the deed she is to bequeath.

      One, petite hand extends to take his into her own, the other pressing intrepdily unto her chest. ❝I, who stands before you, your ruby, flourishing flower of the arts, owe means of gratitude unto you.❞ Forward she leans, lips planting themselves atop the back of his hand. They rest for a second before she permits the ending of the buss, releasing his limb in the process.

THE ESKIMO KISS

      Aside of scripts and poetry which this artisan reads, there is a fondness of which one might label a novella. Minuscule readings, brimming with shortened stories that breathe the budding intimacies of romance into that of flourishing gardens. Ah, such readings have thus inspired her to attempt an act of seeming affection, one she wields not predominantly for whom she hails blood.

      Fingers grasp tight on the lengthy sleeve of the middle, using minuscule exertion to tug him down swiftly without any forewarning. Upon her toes does she stand, as if attempting to reach the tip of his nose… only for the point of her own to brush against his own fleetingly. Heels rock backward whilst she secures her balance, releasing the cloth of his garment as she glowers at the floor, inwardly blaming it rather than her own judgement of distance.

      It is upon glancing upward does viridescent hue perceive the expression that paints itself across porcelain features, ire swelling within her as she barks a single order for him to obey.

THE ANGEL KISS

      Swift is the act which she initiates, lissome fingers motioning for the esteemed acquaintance to lean forward. Atop her toes she stands, closing the gap between this contrast of height. Yet, in sooth, that does not hinder her in bequeathing the other a delicate buss beside his captivating glance. Resting upon her soles once more, she exhales a breath of satisfaction to the proffered gift, as if no other could compare to what she extends in reference to her physique.

      Both hands press themselves upon each hip, presenting herself in a upright motion in order to explain this divine deed. ❝Umu. It is my duty, as an idol, to lavish those whom recognize my talents, fan and companion alike, as I see suitable.❞ There is no query if he finds such adequate, merely accepting it such a notion as so.

      Frequent are such expeditions to fanciful outdoor restaurants, always cluttering along the cleanly streets of Kairos. Frivolous, such dining which bequeaths utmost indifference to the youthful actress. For, each member of the minuscule rendezvous contains no persons of favour to her... rather, it is merely the woman which plays the role of a maternal figure and who seems to be an acquaintance. Utilizing the excessive status this carmine artisan has accumulated, it is no wonder that those of lower esteem were to flock and attempt to be spotted alongside her presence.

      It is so that hues swathed in verdigris drift from tedious company, seeking remedies to what ails her so. Fortunes radiates upon her, it seems, in the sighting of a familiar countenance amongst the scuttling masses. ❝Tyrion, is it?❞ Reluctance lacks in this address, merely a ploy to verify his name and acquire what attention she can. Although they are not relatively close, his is a visage she has become acquainted with at gatherings of high esteem, accompanied by the pleasantness of wit. ❝Sit, partake in this food and drink. One has failed to arrive, allowing a seat for the taking,❞ she explains, motioning to the absent position beside her own.

      Brief is the pause she takes, monitoring the mild ire which blossoms in the gaze of the parent of no insouciance. Before any words are spoken, however, a retort has already begun. ❝Worry not. If they like it not, leave they shall.❞ Coral lips turn into a smile of invitation, disregarding any glower nor whisper muttered her way. They shift with irritability, the first showing signs of readying themselves to possibly depart.

CONTACT PHOTO:

CONTACT NAME:

The Jack (Gintoki)

RINGTONE:

CONTACT PHOTO:

CONTACT NAME:

Kido ☆

RINGTONE:

CONTACT PHOTO:

CONTACT NAME:

Praetor ♥

RINGTONE:

CONTACT PHOTO:

CONTACT NAME:

Hans ♢

RINGTONE:

      Eventide sweeps through the illuminated halls, brimming with patrons whom arrive to the rendezvous set by that of a decorous host. Elaborate suits and silken gowns grab the horde of faceless masses, garnering viridescent hues to peer in admiration in each instance. Yet there is one that piques the intrigue of the petite actress. Of colourful apparel to match the brilliance of each strand of hair, it is no wonder of her captivation. Golden boots clink forward in a single step, compelled much like that of a moth to a scorching flame.

      Magnificent, like that of a talented piece of artwork. Instantaneous is the impulse that seizes her, whimsical to her approach as if there was no other that his eyes should rest upon. Thus, she speaks with no discomfort, vocables nigh commanding than proffering a proper request. For, if it is any who might be given such privilege to dance with an artisan as grandeur as she, then it would be no other than he who is bequeathed such an honour.

      Favours are not beyond the carmine garbed actress, golden boots plodding along with hardly a sound to be hearkened. From the gardens she emerges, the nip of the chilled air lingering upon exposed skin and fabric if one were to hover close. There is no mind to it, howsoever, merely satisfied at the object within lithe fingers that she sought prior to this approach. Nails have thus begun to dull the nettlesome thorns that protrude from the lengthy stem, preening it to perfection before arriving at her final destination.

      Hues swathed in viridescence are accentuated by the sooty make-up smeared beneath the alabaster mask, ornate designs imitating that of a skull to conceal the porcelain countenance beneath. Ah, but it does not hinder the expression that surfaces upon the mark she is meant to locate. Were it not for the silk which displays the front of her legs in a thin veil, one might mistake the young maiden to be gliding. ❝Salve--❞ It is thus she nears with this greeting, presently flashing the male the flower in a fluent motion.

      ❝A rose by any other name cannot compare to the diamond that shines before me.❞ Coral lips lift into a chivalrous smile, delicate hand extending to bequeath the freshly plucked gift intended for him alone. ❝Befitting, is it not? As the colour I match, I shall likewise mimic it's presence flawlessly. Discard it and I will follow, yet until then I remain in your company.❞