powerful;;

Love

He wonders sometimes, how it might have played out if they had been switched. If the on he was meant to cherish actually was the person he now holds dear (as dear as he’s capable at least, which isn’t much). Would he still be the same? Would she? Would anyone?

Stranger

♜: Shoulder rubs

“You’re not taking care of yourself,” Briar admonished Victoire. “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Your spirit may be immortal, but this body is certainly not. When was the last time you got a decent night’s rest?”

“Briar, you’re overreacting. I’m fine.”

“The hell you are,” Briar said. Victoire, who was usually so put together, was visibly tired. “We’re not going out tonight.”

“What? It’s Girl’s Night. We’re going out.” 

“We can have Girl’s Night here. The liquor cabinent’s fully stocked.” Victoire could match Briar’s obstinance, but this was an argument Briar would not lose. She put her hands on her hips. “Sit. I’ll get you a glass of wine, for starters.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll beg off. But make it a whiskey on the rocks?”

“Whatever you want, Vic.”

Briar returned a few minutes later with their drinks. She handed Victoire a glass and set her own vodka cran on the coffee table. “I want you to relax,” Briar murmured. She could see that Victoire was tense and Briar intended to do something about it. She brushed Victoire’s hair to the side and began to work her shoulders. “You deserve a break.” She pressed her thumbs into the taut muscle, exerting the right amount of force. 

“Oh my God,” Victoire sighed.

“I learned that from a courtesan in the 12th century. She had the most radiant smile…”

“I’m going to stop you there.” The ice jostled in Victoire’s tumbler as she took a long drink. “I don’t want to spend all evening talking about your conquests,” she said.