#forevcrandever

     Completely under her spell, lost in magnetic eyes, and ultimately John’s human whim suddenly in full effect–overtaking him entirely. He’d bent himself to her will, and how terribly easy it was to heed her, to be hers forever.  They were vacationing in Paris, a regular event for them; especially, during the spring. It was their luxury retreat, and perhaps even the most romantic time for them, when their passion was most unbridled. He’d been lost with her for hours on end, but what was time for an immortal? There was no need for such a mortal invention when they would be present evermore. ❝ Miriam, ❞ he spoke softly, lips red from their tireless kissing. John had been pinned under her perfect, gorgeous figure, writhing here and there because of the things she was doing to him, which some might consider heinous.  ❝ Miriam Blaylock. ❞ He’d loved her like no other soul, and even loved the sound of her name. She was everything to him, as they both were to one another. ❝ Miriam, I’m yours. ❞

oh, but she would like for it to be. she tries a smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes. they keep that same glassy, distant quality as the smile dims from a high watt, toothy grin to a close mouthed, dusky, private thing. her gaze drifts to the space just above the other blonde’s head – ’ but, wouldn’t it be nice if it was? to…exist in something gold-leafed and safe with someone. where nothing can touch either one of you. i think that…sounds romantic, really. ’ slowly her attention shifts back to the other and her smile returns in earnest, ’ but we all have our own ideas about love, don’t we? we could wax poetic all night and never come near to touching on all the things anyone’s ever said about it. ’ smooths her hands over her skirt because even for all her primping and preening she always feels unkempt as a child in mrs. blaylock’s eerily pristine presence.

     He had been gazing out the window in their bedroom, absent minded when his love had called upon him not once, but twice. Something had struck him, a memory of sorts–if only for a fleeting moment. He’d remembered them: walking through his father’s manor; on the grounds; sneaking off into the stables. It was some time ago, and he’d remembered it well. He tended to. Turning to her, a brief smile rises upon his youthful countenance, and he approaches where she lies on the bed. She always looked so beautiful. ❝ Forgive me, ❞ he states, referring to his loss of focus. He leans over towards his countess, lips delicately pressing against hers. 

      ❝ We never use the kitchen often enough; it is a nice change. ❞ John is wearing a kitchen apron lest he gets any unwanted splashes of crimson onto his shirt. He’s standing at the stove, glancing over at the blonde while he stirs the special sauce; he always liked how her eyes sparkled from time to time. He noticed it was when she was content--and that pleased him.

     slender brows arch, sarcasm masked with the pretense of intrigue.  ❝ alice?... alice who? ❞ he inquires, velvet voice betraying his expression with its playful tone.

@forevcrandever.