“I could score myself a bottle of whiskey (though I promised Gramps I wouldn’t) and let it make me glow, let all the room’s edges go soft, let the memories out of their cages.” Whiskey creating heat…warmth rising into the surface of the recipient’s skin. Reality melts softly, becoming warm wax, boundaries becoming pliable. Memories locked away in cages - animalistic. Hidden away for protection of all.
— 14 hours, 46 min ago
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