Milday de Winter/Athos, the devil could never love hell the way I love you. (this went over three lines!)
She is fully capable of going entire days without thinking of him. Days where she occupies her mind with schemes and practice and travel and reading and bartering; his presence nothing more than a whisper of a shadow on the edges of her thoughts, the tease of a familiar scent on the breeze, the faint burn of a good wine on her tongue.
When she allows herself to remember, it is the sweetest of reliefs and she nearly gasps as the bindings she'd wrapped so tightly around her mind loosen. She hates him, she hates him, she hates him and oh, why it is the loveliest thing in the world to think of him?
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She is fully capable of going entire days without thinking of him. Days where she occupies her mind with schemes and practice and travel and reading and bartering; his presence nothing more than a whisper of a shadow on the edges of her thoughts, the tease of a familiar scent on the breeze, the faint burn of a good wine on her tongue.
When she allows herself to remember, it is the sweetest of reliefs and she nearly gasps as the bindings she'd wrapped so tightly around her mind loosen. She hates him, she hates him, she hates him and oh, why it is the loveliest thing in the world to think of him?