“this is dangerous.” he says. he’s talking about my hair—it’s a liability in a fight. “i’ll put it up before we leave,” i whisper. he leans in. i stop breathing. he’s so close, curved over me against this tree. his fingers are still tangled in my hair. “pity,” he finally says. i barely hear the word. then he drops his hand, sheaths his blade in one smooth motion, and turns away.
AHHHHHH
— Oct 25, 2026 12:51AM
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