Silverlight Terrace it rattles the bones of our fathers, carries whispers from the dead
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the longer he stares, the clearer the scene becomes. a familiar ache grips his chest as he registers the truth of the scene; another handsome starlit stranger, another poisoned chalice set before him. though, perhaps it is arrogant to assume this stranger will want anything to do with him. after all, garland is nothing special...
he swallows those thoughts, chiding himself. too self-centered, as always; thinking too much of himself again, as if anyone in the world cares.
oh, shit. they noticed him. oh fuck. his cheeks flush. this is so dumb, i look so weird right now —
hi, he forces out, if only to shut out the chaos of his thoughts. he hates how fragile it sounds; timid, like a child. uh... sorry. did i interrupt something?
speaks with a thick greek accent.
common | «greek»
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