#number asks

44. A random fact about anything

18. Favourite tv show?

Oooooo gosh, I'm just going to jump in and say Xfiles right now, I'm a little bit obsessed and it reminds me of my childhood 👽

36. Favourite movie?

I have quite a few favourites but, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas gets me every time, Johnny Depp plays Hunter. S. Thompson so well it's crazy. It's also a batshit crazy movie (perfect) "we can't stop now, this is bat country!!"

82. Favourite ice cream flavour?

Toss up between chocolate, vanilla and mint..but I'll do chocolate & vanilla combined ✨️ nice and boring and safe 😅

98. Favourite month?

October, without fail. Storms, crunchy leaves, warm clothes, hot drinks Halloween, I love autumn 🍂

His eyes burned with a desperate, feverish light, the kind that devours and consumes. Hands trembling, Selithar traced the edges of the letters on his desk, his every movement deliberate, reverent. Each piece of parchment was a sacred relic, scattered across his room like shrines to a love he held above all else.

Fingers threaded through his raven-tousled hair as he drew in a breath sharp with longing. “My enigmatic muse,” he murmured, voice trembling with the weight of unsaid emotions. His lips parted as if tasting the very air she had once breathed, his heart thundering wildly against his ribs. “Her inked words... they are more than mere markings. They are an extension of her soul—raw, deliberate, breathtaking. I imagine her hands, delicate and sure, guiding the quill in a symphony of grace, each stroke an offering to the bond we share.”

But then, his gaze faltered. Shadows crossed his features as his fingers lingered over the last letter, its edges worn from countless readings. The weight of its declaration pressed heavy on his heart. “She called this her final letter,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain of unspoken sorrow. A sigh escaped him, yet beneath his grief, a smoldering resolve ignited.

Lifting the letter, Selithar held it as though it might slip from his grasp and vanish into oblivion. “She seeks to free me,” he said, his tone low but fierce. “To sever the ties, to rid me of some imagined burden... But she does not understand. Love is no duty. It is passion. It is devotion. It is—choice.”

The final word rang like a vow as his grip tightened on the parchment. His eyes blazed with newfound determination, the sadness replaced by unyielding certainty. “And I choose her.”

Act III scene iii line 87 from Hamlet

“No”

Haha just kidding.

My favorite quote is probably

(-Not Nyx)

AHHHHHHH

zero?