THERE’S A FAINT burn in the back of her throat : she blows a plume of smoke directly above peter’s head. it circles, GREY AND CLOYING, like some funny crown. the corner of her mouth twists, that burning quickly turning into a rising bitterness. isn’t he aware of the times SHE’S CRIED ?? curled up against her pillow and sobbed into the fabric until she turned ragged with exhaustion ?? ❝ AND WHEN she isn’t crying she’s going off on me instead for one thing or another. ❞
❝ SO PERHAPS, ❞ her cigarette gets flicked to the ground, a tiny arc of ash landing upon the toe of his shoe. she reaches out GRACIOUSLY to brush it off with the sole of her own, it only ends up smudging the worn leather.
❝ YOU SHOULD be talking to her instead. she’s always been dramatic, but she’s not a child anymore. it’s no longer sweet.
❞
and it sounded like his final gasp | kmp
((for @nepenthenet‘s prompt “how to kill a king”))

im srry sweaty who are u
SEND IN A 👍 IF YOU LIKE MY PORTRAYAL. PLEASE SAY WHY // ACCEPTING.
SHE RAISES a hand to swat halfheartedly at his : an admonishment against ruining the COMPLEX TWISTS of her hairstyle settled upon the tip of her tongue. it dies with a long, low sigh. there’s a dreamy, far-away look in her eye ― cheeks ROSY from hours of dancing and merriment. and wine, slick and sweet against her lips. her feet are bare, silk slippers long since discarded once the flutes and drums began playing in earnest, the grass tickling pleasantly between her toes. gingerly, she plucks his hand from her shoulder, lacing her fingers with his as she presses her cheek to his arm. ❝ OH, JUST a while longer. ❞
❝
HE’S FINE. sleeping thanks to lucy’s cordial.
❞
she can’t stop trembling : small shudders wracking her slender frame even as she adjusts herself within the circle of his arm to allow him to LEAN HIS WEIGHT INTO HER. he reeks of blood, dirt and sweat, but her stomach DOESN’T SWIM. it has long since stopped doing that, not since she was a girl of twelve stepping onto the crimson soaked fields of beruna. and yet, the WORRIES NEVER CEASE: the fear that clutches coldly at her heart whenever she watches their armies deploy and does not cease until their return.
❝ OH PETER, i was so frightened!! when news came in that the battle had turned tide for the worst i couldn’t… and then edmund was brought to us so gravely injured…
❞
she trails off with a small hiccup and a WORDLESS SHAKE of her head, her hand resting firm upon his chest. she shall not even entertain the thought. // @highcrowned // CONTINUED.
❝
REALLY PETER, i just don’t understand why you keep bringing up childhood stories.
❞
seated before her vanity, a porcelain hand is lifted to fluff out dark curls, brush away a small SMEAR of mascara from the corner of her eye. small imperfections : easily controlled. her ankles are crossed demurely, the straight lines of her nylons ( new && crisp ) standing out against her calves. eyes are rolled, falling upon the slouched form of her elder brother leaning ( looming : golden and sad. always so sad. ) against her bedroom doorway.
❝
WHAT DOES it matter how i handled IMAGINARY SUITORS as a pretend queen when there are some much more real ones out there in the world ??
❞
// @highcrowned !!