The conversation is lively enough, still threaded with tension. Every gesture and bite is measured and calculated; nothing escapes his sight. Not even the little moth on the edge of the table. She seemed so unassuming he could have mistaken her for being one with the wind. When she finally looked up and met his gaze, he never released it, as if he were drawing him toward her like the moth to the flame. A pleasant night, indeed? We’ve not spoken much as of yet.
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1MissWisteria
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27/01/2025