#blindarmed

The Lady, allowing herself to remain bare faced in Roger’s company, was one who took special care of her workers. For creatures so twisted, so ugly, so unbelievably inferior to herself... She admired the efforts they took to meet her expectations. Her poor, poor, adorable possessions, trying to make do with the misfortunes God had given them. It could make her smile. It could make her vomit.

There was the sound of lavender tea being drunk, slowly, as was polite for a woman. The clink of a cup being set upon a saucer. And, finally, her voice, ever hypnotising in its melody.

@blindarmed​ uttered: " every hard thing in my life feels worth it. it all led me to you " // he's sentimental sorry <3

THE IMPOSSIBLE MAN. A wondrous moniker for one so simple in his design, in his desires, his dreams ------ and one The Lady did not find accurate. The proof stood before her, releasing such poetic stammers like any ordinary person would (should / should / should, she would never allow otherwise) have in her companionship. His gratitude was all but expected, a mere echo of the many kneeling confessions and trembling gifts she had received over the years. Yet, despite the mundanity...

It had not lost its flavour, had it? Adoration was adoration, no matter how far beneath one stood upon The Maw’s great chain of being. If Roger’s heart was prosaic, then The Lady’s heart was hollow. Cracked somewhere delicate. Forever unsatisfied; for one so seemingly blessed in all manner of things, never a hair out of place, she was made wretched by doubts and soothed by admiration, as hungry for reassurance as she was flesh. What excellent phrasing, too. 

The Janitor... He truly was a talent amongst her rosters. 

Fingers rose towards a masked mouth in a display of bashfulness, as was proper, locutions ringing out against the stale silence like water; her voice a boon in exchange for tribute.

❝My... You flatter me, Roger-san... It is I who should be saying such things... Where would The Maw be without you?❞