@vasilyevna / cont.
IT’S A ROUGH PATCH OF SKIN there on her forearm, blistered and ugly in comparison to such smooth marble flesh. it stands as one of the few blemishes that wasn’t done purposely, as reluctant as she is to admit nor accept that — a burn mark from a candle left on her brother’s bedroom floor. ‘ don’t … — don’t touch that. ‘
chris pulls his hand away quickly and gracelessly, as if the heat of the candle remains. he shrinks a little with shame --- it’s unlike him to initiate any flavor of touch, let alone those as personal as fingers against a scar.
‘ sorry, ’ he says. ‘ i’m sorry. ’













