me, nearing tears: richard...richard please...please just tell me the fucking story
richard, dreamy eyed: today henry winter's shoulders looked especially sloping as his startling blue eyes scanned his homework with the concentration of a monk, though to me he is more like the god they serve. francis' coat billowed behind him, making him look like a student prince, and i admired the way the sun hit his hair, turning the red strands the colour of honey. i love camilla's boyishness and the way her features mirror her brother's so perfectly, framed by her short hair and masculine clothes borrowed from charles. i'm so heterosexual.
drying my eyes: nevermind gayboy, who cares about the murder















