❝ Anything you can do about that? ❞ That, the celestial sword impaled through the perfect center of her kitchen table, skewering an orichalcum box to the wood along the way. The Christian god’s grace was a white flame and it rippled all along the blade, reflecting the rose-spread of day-is-done light leaking in through the windows and gilding it in blue and aubergine. The table’s lacquer finish didn’t so much as peel from the fire, but Meg could feel the BURN of a furnace if she brought her hand close.
She edged her fingers against the table’s edge instead, mails dragging across mahogany as she walked a half circuit round till her attention is communicated through the ripples of a heat haze. ❝ I can’t even touch it. ❞
@indigni | ♥’d —— STARTER CALL











