ᶤᵐ ᵈᵒᶰᵉ ʷᶤᵗʰ ᵐᵒᵈᵉˡᶤᶰᵍ

               she rolls her eyes, head relaxing upon his chest instead of speaking another word. at first.   ❛ what shall we do today, baby? i’m feeling… restless. ❜

               there is no remorse in elizabeth’s eyes, nor is there any hesitation behind motives and actions.   ❛ i wasn’t DROPPING you, tristan. i am trying to survive in marrying will. he is a means to an end, one that you obviously do not understand if you feel such a way. ❜   he’s hardly wrong to think she’ll drop him, though, for she will eventually.   ❛ what you feel is not happiness, it is a fool’s paradise. an illusion. one of you will tire of the other, and then you will have no one. ❜

@exmcdel.

          the gentle clinking of makeup brushes ceases quietly, as a complexion is decided to be adequately powdered & eyeliner’s even. only briefly does she admire her reflection in the ovoid mirror before her gaze catches on tristan lounging upon the bedsheets behind her. it’s then that the heart-wrenching thoughts that plague her every shower, her every lone moment at the front desk come back full force. her hues flit almost guiltily downwards, wordlessly fingering the knot of robe ‘round her middle.

         it’s no secret that whatever spark she & tristan held upon their reunion has long since burnt out. it seemed everyone knew except them. occasionally, she received a prying question from iris or ramona, but denial had, previously, been set in stone. now, though, a flicker of courage caresses her perplexed heart & she can’t help the question that softly slips from her tongue:   ❛ tristan ——— do you love me? ❜

                      IT IS THE start to every day, after a bout of needless sleep, does liz taylor preen in view of the mirror.  tristan was never too interested in what they applied over his blemishes && scrapes before he went onto the catwalk, and when liz went on about the colors of lipstick she owned... he couldn’t stay focused. so, like every morning, patience was nurtured as he sat on the bed waiting for her.

               ❛ you don’t sound very confident in that answer, tristan. should i be worried? ❜   her gaze doesn’t leave him, the countess definitely noticing his lack of enthusiasm and eye contact.

               ❛ you don’t know anything about me, tristan. i’ve told you what i wanted you to know, but you don’t know me. nobody does, not even our precious liz. ❜   her laughter has ended by now, anger through the roof as emeralds harden into the gem they resemble. she doesn’t like it when people assume that they know her, that they understand her heartbreak and sorrow; she knows better than anyone.   ❛ so, you have one more chance to try again, to get on my good side. you have gone behind my back for EVERYTHING, when i haven’t done such a thing to you. i have shared. i have protected; and for what? to be betrayed. ❜

“ABYSMAL. Adjective. In a literal sense sometimes used to express depth, though in the colloquial sense, as I intend it,” they pause, tossing a DISDAINFUL glance at the offending garment, “horrific. Appalling. Utterly terrible.”

“WHATEVER you say, love.” They sift through a few options. “It would not make you gay, you know. Having an interest in me. I am NOT a boy.” Pulling out the deep purple number, the hold it against themself in the mirror. The number of times they’ve had this conversation is actually shocking.