ππππ ππππππ’ πππππππ ππ:@chthonianNecrology You don't remember her. The hair like silk and horns curled like ivy down the sides of her face, she was the world and the moons to you. Her touch was soft and her claws were sharp, like fangs on a butterfly or perhaps the proboscis on a hummingbird. She sipped at your veins like it was a godly nectar. She called you her 3rd place trophy, an inside joke from an event you've not quite erased yet. There was so much blood. No amount of prying the pushers from cadavers will bring her back, none of it will wash away the stains of her purple on your hands. You'll never see her pretty smile or her delicate horns again, and it was your fault. Would she want you to forget her so easily? It's not your fault. πΌπππππ’ πππ
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