It's the first day of spring. The sun was out. The temperature hit somewhere close to seventy and there's a sort of fever in the air, this incipient restlessness. Motorcycles come out and convertibles and the city's parks are packed and the most dedicated of sunworshippers may have tossed out a towel and laid down on the cool grass over the cold ground that still holds winter in its heart because every night the temperature falls below freezing again and the sun is gone now and the sky is dark and there's a moon a full moon riding the skin of the sky, and the chantry is not just a modern house but: grounds; fields and rolling hills and scrub woods and the like.
It is a hot spring; and the hot spring is a node and the node thrums and hums with life, and the hot spring is lined with flagstones and steam billows from it and while the underground-bunker-of-a-library may be the primary attraction for many it is not the primary attraction for a certain Ecstatic, who comes and goes when and as she will and is here tonight, outside, barefoot, half-dressed as she always is, sitting near the edge of the hotspring with a pipe in one hand and a Bic in the other and a bottle of something not far away.
Kalen Holliday[Nightmares]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Kalen Holliday[WP b/c reasons]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 4, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )
Kalen HollidayKalen does not tend to be found at the hot spring. But he does make exceptions on occasion, usually for Sera. He settles near her, close enough to the spring that the rocks are warmer, but still a good few feet away from the water. He doesn't reach out to touch it and once he's on the ground he barely even looks at it.
"Good evening."
SerafíneReasonably safe to assume that if Sera is not fasting, she is likely to be in some stage of intoxication. Tonight her feet and calves are wet and even the fringe of her cut-offs is a bit dark from wading in the well appointed hotspring or maybe that is what she calls communing; meditating, whatever the hell it is that she does out here.
Listen, she glances up and over her shoulder as the glass sliders open and Kalen emerges from within and the light has a slanting cast and a sort of basting brilliance and she smiles at him, watching him skewed in her peripheral vision and forgetting about the pipe for the nonce.
She remembers it when he sits down though. When he greets her all formal and then her smile shifts and her eyes find his and
"Hey."
- says Sera, extending the pipe and the lighter in Kalen's general direction by way of offer. She's not especially tall but she is rather long-limbed and she'll leeean if he wants a hit and she needs to.
There is a certain way her eyes sweep over him, all assessing, even though she does give him the courtesy of asking, "How're you?"
SerafíneAwarempathy. How are you sleeping?
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 6 )
Kalen Holliday['Sleeping? Not well. But mayyyyyyybe you'll buy I'm totally doing that. And that I am not horrified by that pool over there waiting to kill us....']
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 6 )
Kalen HollidayShe gets a return smile, and it isn't bright enough outside to see the color in his eyes, which (on some occasions to his great dismay) do not glow or reflect light like a cat's, for all that would certainly be fitting. She does not have to reach far to hand him the pipe and the lighter, though he answers her before he does more than accept them.
"Oh, I'm great. Alyssa and I are cofounding a cabal, Grace and I have a few things we're working on. As far as I know, there's nothing to save this plane of existence, or even the city, from. Given another week or two, I may go crazy from the lack of adrenaline or something, but for now, I'm enjoying the quiet.
"How are you?" Now he flicks the lighter on, warm light splashing over his pale skin, breathes in smoke breathes out...well...it's hard to be sure what is going on in his head. But there is something that has echoes of ritual or meditation or something.
And then he's leaning toward her to offer her the pipe and lighter back.
Serafíne"A little bit drunk," Sera says, with a certain warmth and a certain pleasure in the saying of it. She's always a little bit something and she may well be more than a little bit something right now but a little bit is all that is evident now, in the lazy circuit of movement as she accepts the pipe and lighter back.
One-handed. She's experienced. Practice makes -
- well practice makes something. Kalen must be practiced at something because Sera watches him with such beautifully honed attention - really, it's not watching so much as feeling. Breathing in whatever it is that he's giving off - but all she understands is that there are layers; the outter one, full of news, flippant over the lack of adrenaline in his life, and whatever there is beneath the skin.
There is always something beneath the skin.
"I was looking for the moon." Sera is not full of news, of her own life or anyone else's. She glances up at the sky, but the near-full moon is not yet visible over the dark curves of the sinuous horizon. " - but I remembered I've been seeing it in the morning lately. Not at fucking night.
"What sort of cabal?"
Kalen HollidayKalen has to know about that attention, because it lies softly over his skin like the scent of nightblooming jasmine, with the kind of weight that is more interpretation than real sensation.
No. Perhaps the world has forgotten but they know - it is all real sensation.
She is out here looking for the moon. He could show it to her, obliquely, if they were nearer the ocean. It might drive him a bit mad, but he can Work off of reflections on water. She lives in cusps and liquid transitions and he drives right up to edges and both of them in their ways have little fear of finding out where the thresholds are for their own limits.
Perhaps it's that. Perhaps it's because she sang for him. Perhaps it's because they got dragged through Hell together. But he meets her eyes, his skin painted more with shadows than with light at this distance from the flame. And he stops with the mask.
It is a kind of intimacy almost no one gets with him.
His lips curl a little when she asks what kind of cabal. "One that is likely to see a considerable amount of blood. Almost certainly when we go out hunting. Quite possibly when Alyssa and I start hitting each other." He doesn't seem to think starting a cabal with someone you'd come to blows with is even a little strange. "Sid's in. We extended an invitation to Alexander, and he may or may may not be joining us."
SerafíneThere's still a bit of spark in the weed packed into the bowl; Sera smothers it, covers the bowl with the barrel of the lighter to start the flame of oxygen while they talk a bit; while she watches for Kalen instead of for the hiding moon. Makes this noise when he stops with the mask and it's a quiet sort of noise, more hum than anything else, punctuated or perhaps interrupted by a quiet inhale. There's nothing like deception in Sera's eyes. She's as open as the night sky or the wide expanses of the planes so - a kind of living awareness visible in her, of him. Of everything, though this much she does not know: how rare that degree of intimacy.
Then, then she uncaps the bowl and lifts the pipe to her mouth and sparks the lighter and inhales. Oh, the back of her mind is rising and so are her shoulders because she can feel the punctuate intensity of the nerve endings in her spine and she has to
"I think I've had enough blood to last a lifetime," oh, wry. And also: strange and sorrowing and sorrowing in layers and eddies and currents of which Sera herself is not entirely aware but there is something, yes, haunted about her sometimes -
- isn't there? "Several lifetimes." Still she smiles around it because her body is lovely, lovely, and the night is lovely, lovely, and the - "Why do you go chasing it?
"And don't fall back on House Adrenaline junkie."
Kalen Holliday"I don't really chase it. The blood. I end up there, because...." He takes a very slow, deep breath. "Once upon a time, a lifetime ago and maybe an eternity or only a breath ago, I made a very serious vow to be a knight. Not to the Order, it was before any of that, and...I had almost forgotten. I was very good at hiding and surviving and fading into shadows. Seeking out confrontation was essentially the opposite of what I was.
"I think that's he wanted. Marcellus. I think he chose me because he knew I could be good at it, the hunting and the killing and one day the dying, but...I think he wanted a student who could take a breath and try to find a solution that wasn't blood. Or even, necessarily, hostility. I was good at alliances, not friendships mind, but strategic alliances."
He looks down and his head tilts downward a bit. "I'm still not. Good at friends. It's really strange to still be here. I haven't stayed anywhere this long for awhile."
"Given the choice, if it were just about me, I'd take a fire and book and a cat and a cup of coffee." He looks back up, and for this part at least he can meet her eyes. Wants to, even. "But there are monsters. I don't have any particular desire to kill them. But I do have a definite preference to be between them and whatever victims they'd claim. For however long it can last, my place is between those horrors and the rest of the world. It just so happens that that tends to provoke them."
SerafíneSera takes one more toke. This long, deep, abiding inhale that pulls her body up through the rather narrow line of her shoulders as if she were being drawn by some invisible thread up to the sky. Something inherently and deeply sensual about the way she moves like that, as the smoke curls and lingers in her lungs and the THC diffuses into her blood and that resonant sensation expands in these patterned waves the locus of which she can locate somewhere beneath her sternum.
She holds on to the pipe while he considers his past and his present; the unexpected balance of both. Hands it back when he's done, reach-reaching, see, then leans back to rest her weight on a hand splayed open behind her, palm flat agianst the flagstones.
"I've never made any fucking vows. I don't think. Not in the whole of my goddamned life." Which, in fact, may or may not be true: there is only so much that she remembers. Her eyes are on him, dark, her curling mouth settled into a quiet, thoughtful curve. And she listens, of course, with a certain intensity that seems to define most of her interactions with the world. "Did you make that vow before or after you awakened? And I don't think I've heard you talk about your past. Who was Marcellus? Your mentor?"
Kalen Holliday"That," Kalen says softly, "Is because my past makes most people sad." He accepts the pipe, looking away from her this time only so as to be sure of where to place the lighter. He considers what parts to answer and how to answer, breathes in smoke and breathes out smoke and for all he may be calm...nothing is clear.
Drop him blindfolded in an alley with people shooting at him and he'd have a plan in an instant. Clear like mountain steams. His past. It's implications. Meaningful and lasting social bonds. These things are the Mississippi.
Catfish, he could tell her, taste like mud. In a bad way. Pu-erh tea tastes like earth. In a good way. He should make it for her. Explain the clay and the way everything that happened transformed the clay into something beautiful. Showed her the artwork that you could make when you dropped clay and shattered it.
You cannot do that with the past. Bond the places that have fractured with gold and turn it into a new kind of treasure. Well, perhaps that is arguable. If it can be done, it is beyond him. His past is sharp edged. It draws blood.
"Well before I Awakened. I believe I had just turned six." He smiles, and reaches out to her. To offer her the pipe. He has reached out to touch her only once, in an umbral cave. He lets her hold his eyes. Unlike the other times he has been so careful that he hands her things without touching her, this time he lets his fingers brush against hers in the exchange.
"And, yes. Marcellus was my mentor. He...felt like a mountain. This immense, unyielding underlying force of the cosmos, in the same way as gravity. Pan reminds me of him, a little, sometimes."
SerafíneSera accepts the pipe, palm up, fingertips stabilizing the bowl. The lighter tucked neatly against it, and oh, yes. She feel the brush of his fingertips against her own. Recognizes, naturally and implicitly and entirely, some boundary crossed. Some border. Some threshold.
And she's high enough that she really doesn't need to smoke anymore, not just now. So she holds the pipe just like that,
"I think I'm done," quiet, see. "You finish it off." Though she's never really done, is she? Always looking for some new peak to climb and then throw herself into whatever denouement waits on the other side. Gives him time to take it or wave off what remains of the bowl too, bare arm unfurled. Rings gleaming dully in the dim light: bronze on the index finger, a silver and iron on the others.
"Does it make you sad?"
His past, she means.
Kalen HollidayHe does not wave off the pipe and he does not take it. She still and he stills. He lets that whisper of contact hold. "Parts of it do. But they are far outweighed by the parts that do not. He's dead, almost certainly. The chantry fell. I made that vow to my sister, who had declared that she wanted to a princess and then a queen. That I would be a knight was, perhaps, only an afterthought. It was to be one of our last days together, though I did not know it then. What happened to them, in the end, that is sad. But they were so much more than how they died." Some beautiful things, like cherry blossoms or snow, are things that cannot last. And fallen cherry blossoms and fallen snowflakes both form drifts. Which he learned in the shadow of a sacred mountain from a man who felt like a mountain. That memory, almost all of them really, are beautiful.
He smiles a little. "And I don't care what anyone says, my childhood from like eight to fourteen was like a grand series of adventures. Functional parents are nice, I'm sure, but not at all necessary. And then I Awakened, and my life really was a grand series of adventures. On the whole, I don't see how that could all be sad." He means that, for all Sera has seen him mourning a man who was dead before they met and despite the fact that she knows something torments him to the point he cannot really rest without magic, his conviction that life is beautiful and sacred is pure. Like snow. Like moonlight.
SerafíneSera is a little bit in love with Pan. Sera is a little bit in love with all too many things. Sera spends some rather significant part of her waking life at some stage of intoxication. Sometimes Sera takes the same pleasure in breathing that other people take in -
- well, almost anything, almost everything.
Now there is the warm fog from the hotspring and the bright chill of the gathering dark and the single, radiant certainty of her high and a bottle of whiskey tucked not even an arm's length away when she wants or needs it.
Well, he doesn't take the pipe back; just lets his touch linger on her hand. She has tattoos on both the right and the left. It's the right he's touching now; some dark and tightly kerned script on the interspace of her hand between her index finger with that bronze ring, and thumb with its steel band. She has more tattoos, on the inside of her wrist, inside her bicep. On the other hand, too, the palm and wrist and two fingers at least, though that absurd thing is hidden now.
She's resting her weight on it.
He doesn't take the pipe back, and she lingers but only so long. She's done. Maybe he's done, maybe not. But for now she thumbs upward a very clever mechanism that seals the bowl of the pipe and cuts off most of the oxygen supply to the smoldering marijuana. Palms the protected pipe and lighter and puts them aside, beneath one of the patio chairs, beside her bottle of whiskey.
Then she's movement, shifting her weight and on that braced hand and twisting round to kneel and sort-of-crawl towards him. What is it, an armlength away Two maybe. Two, he did not sit close to the spring in which she had been soaking, at the very least, her bare feet. So two armlengths, to crawl, and he has ample warning that she is going to kiss him -
briefly,
chastely,
on the temple, eyes closed as she murmurs, "I'm glad, then." Quiet see, "that the joy of it outweighs the sorronw." before she turns over again and settles on her ass and raws her knees up close and reaches for that bottle of whiskey with a drunk flail of her arm and manages to come up with it - HELLO BOTTLE! -
"Most of us don't commit to our life's work when we're six."
Kalen HollidayOf course she does not linger. She is made of mystery and the spaces between things. How could she be still? Confined to a single space for so long? He watches her crawl toward him, the way she moves physically in the same way she moves through spaces and states of being. Fluid. Always seeming transfixed somehow between one pose and the next. He can taste her Resonance and he would be lying if he said he did not also want to taste her skin. Her tongue.
He does neither of those things. Instead he stays still, only his eyes moving as she moves.
"No, I suppose that is not common," he says quietly after she kisses him. "And yet," he says, with considerable amusement but no sense of sarcasm at all, "None of us really manage to be common at all."
He watches her reach out and catch the bottle. "Were you planning to wait for the moon?" He says this as though it would be a perfectly reasonable thing to be doing.
Serafíne"I don't wait for shit." She's seated beside him and her mouth is curved and her smile is wide enough and sure enough and absolute enough to also show teeth. There's a way she glances at him, sidelong , one brow spiked, her hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. She sits with her bare feet planted on the flagstones and her knees drawn up and her shoulders a bit forward, hair damp from the steam that drifts in lazy currents around them, shifting and dissipating in the much colder wind.
"Not even the fucking moon."
Which can't be true, not precisely. She was, after all, out here, alone and a little bit (alot?) stoned soaking her feet in the spring and doing god knows what. Communing, perhaps. Call it meditation.
"I'll see her in the morning, when I crawl off to bed. Or whatever. I like knowing she's out there, though.
"You know. In fucking orbit."
Kalen HollidayKalen laughs at that. "I'm sure she still is. If we were closer to the ocean and I was a little better with the Ars Mentis, I could show you." He drops backward to lay so he can stare up at the sky.
"I'm sure there are other moons out there. Right now. Orbiting planets orbiting other stars. We just can't see them from here the same way we can't see all the individual drops of water that make up the ocean. It doesn't mean you see them less. You just cant focus on them directly."
SerafíneSera doesn't lie back. She does take a drink directly from her bottle, a long, direct pull that is more than one shot, less than two. That shit burns, and oh how she welcomes it, letting the fire run through her body with a brilliant and deliberate thoughtlessness.
With a brilliant and deliberate thoughtlessness that she cultivates, that she lives within. That she waters and cares for and creates and recreates every goddamned night.
"I don't really care about other moons," Sera says, with a gesture of the bottle that may be an offer, but he's lying back now, lying down and looking up at the sky. There's nothing contentious about it; it is an admission rather than a boast. Sera cares about this goddamned earh, this fucking world. She doesn't spend most nights looking at the stars, but -
"Just this one, and the people beneath it and all that shit. God, I sound like a hippie.
"I like the idea of multiplicity, though. Many worlds and all that shit."
Kalen HollidayKalen listens to that, smile widening a little. Sera is at various moments a lot of things, but in this particular one she is amusing. Endearing.
"There isn't anything wrong with loving things that are less distant. Immediate things are not without merit." He waves a hand lazily at the bottle. Not at the moment for the drinking apparently.
"I so often forget, when I am with you, but then I leave, and it suddenly occurs to me that I know nothing about you. Tell me something?"
He lets his eyes drift mostly closed. There is warmth radiating up from the rocks he is laying on, and hopefully she will tell stories. Perhaps not. She doesn't seem like the type for stories perhaps, but you can be surprised. Adam, for example. Adam tells stories, if you convince him. And he knows so many. Even if she refuses, the refusal itself might be interesting.
Serafíne"Hmm." Sera makes this noise when he says that sometimes and usually when he leaves he realizes that he doesn't know anything about her. There's a secret isn't there: where the fuck she came from, and why, and what for. She might prefer that the world imagine her like Venus, sprung full formed from the vasty ocean, arriving to shore riding on a clamshell, naked except for the glory of her hair.
That noise is speculative, it lives in her throat. It is not a refusal but there's an ironic curve to her mouth and a certain gleam in her dark eyes, the way she casts a look back to him, where he lays, with his eyes mostly closed, feeling the radiant warmth from the stones beneath him. Her hair is loose, curling, but her right side is closer to him than her left so he has too, the spare definition of her profile, the curve of her skull beneath the soft fringe where it is shaved close.
"You've never heard me play either, have you?"
She means, with the band. On the stage. With her consor and her housemates. He's never seen her up there, like that. The way she lets go.
Kalen Holliday"No. I heard you sing, the one time. But that's different, I would imagine."
His attention seems to be more on the stars than on Sera, if you judge by where his eyes are. Of course, those eyes are drifting open more and more slowly each time they blink, it seems. "You don't have to tell me anything. I am curious, but...I get to see what you are sometimes. That is enough."
Serafíne"I met Dan," but is seems that Kalen is going to get the story he requested. Or perhaps: a story as he requested. The truth is, Sera is full of stories. They begin on a date certain and end on a date certain and that is the only way she defines herself. The only way she can define herself outside of a particular sort of shadow she quite prefers to pretend does not exist, at all. But here, a glance back, her dark eyes flickering over his prone body, his eyes drifting closed. "You know him, right? Anyway, I met Dan in Brooklyn and we hit it off. He wanted me to sit down and write a song with him and I was like, fuck it I'm not doing anything else, and lo and behold, it worked.
"But I didn't wanna be in New York, you know? It's so fucking - I didn't wanna be there, and Dan had this ex in North Carolina - Raleigh Durham - who was always raving about the local music scene and Dan had a buddy with a studio down there so we headed south. Stayed there a couple of years.
"We had this bad with a guy who was doing pre-med at Duke. He played drums and honestly, he was a fucking awesome drummer, but then he graduated and apparently partying too fucking much is not precisely a resume building activity so he didn't get into med school in the states but he did manage to buy his way into one of those places in the fucking Caribbean so that was the end of that.
"And we'd known Dee and Rick all peripheral for a while, they were dating then, sort of on the edges of the scene? - and there was this one fucking night, this birthday party for Dennis - everyone called him Maw-Maw - and Dennis' boyfriend had hired a band but they didn't show so somehow it ended up an open mic party and somehow we ended up on stage together and somehow it fucking clicked.
"Dee's amazing. Then they graduated from fucking college and couldn't get fucking jobs and Dee inherited this house from her aunt here in Denver and so, here we are. Tagging along.
"Sort of a fucking band.
"Mostly." Except the gigs keep getting interrupted, by one trauma or another, don't they?
There's not even a pause before Sera says, to Kalen. "Let me help you sleep tonight."
Kalen HollidayKalen listens to Sera talking about things that pulled her, eventually to Denver. Seemingly chance meetings and inheritance. He wonders if the other band was drawn away for more than just that night onstage, if they weren't interrupted like Sera and her band so often are. If they ended up on a boat to the Caribbean and picked up a drummer studying to be a doctor.
"I would imagine there is nothing you do that is sort of anything. It may or may not succeed, but you don't strike me as capable of doing things by halves. It is one of my favorite things about you."
He does pause. "I'm not ever likely to tell you to stop doing that, but you will likely get tired of doing that every time you see me at some point because it is always like this."
Serafíne"I figured as much," Sera returns, her voice low. She's taking another shot from the bottle and god only knows, really, how much and how many and what lovely substances she has consumed tonight. The world spins on an axis that is both invisible and inevitable and right now her world has that same combination of opacity and directness to it, and she's just gotta spin.
But listen, she figured as much and there's a quiet intention in her voice as she says it.
"Me, I have the opposite problem. Can't fucking wake me once I go to sleep. 'couple-three times I ended up in the hospital when someone thought I'd OD'd and I was just sleeping. Which sucks, I hate fucking hospitals.
"Anyway, that's why I don't like sleeping alone."
Kalen Holliday"I don't either. But I tend to, outside of very few people." He smiles a little. "Though Denver may break me of that, next. This city...I've been to a lot of cities, and this one is something else. Like a tiger."
His eyes open, and he may be fucking exhausted but his eyes are not sleepy. A little hazy and unfocused, yes, but not so much with sleep. "I think I'm staying, though."
SerafíneSera makes a noise in the back of her throat and glances back at him. "Why do you call it a tiger?"
Kalen Holliday"Because it is both beautiful and brutal," he says absently. "Tigers are mesmerizing, but they are vicious. Untamable, really. Tigers just do what they do. It involves a not insignificant amount of killing things. And napping. Not a bad life, I suppose. If lonely."
Serafíne"I've never thought of it that way," Sera returns with a glance back at Kalen. Humming around the words and perhaps around the idea, though in truth it is one she will never adopt. The brutality she cannot bear. The thoughtlessness, the necessary instinct, though -
"And I probably won't, now. Then I'd just be waiting for the next horrible thing to happen, and I don't think I could live like that. I also don't think I could live without sleep.
"Are you ready? I don't mind. I don't mind at all."
Kalen Holliday"Yeah. I'm ready. Inside? Out here? Do you care?"
SerafíneSera leans back then, bottle still in her hand, her hair spread out behind and around her head like a crown or a halo, one hand tucked beneath her skull.
And turns to look at him.
"Whereever you want. I'm yours."
Kalen HollidayKalen raises one eyebrow at that phrasing, because he cannot imagine Sera being anyone's. Unless she was also everyone's. He is very certain that she is not his.
"Would you wake up? If you fell into the water?"
Serafíne"I don't know," Sera returns with a brief shrug. "I'd hope so, but it wouldn't be the best place for me to fall asleep."
And oh, indeed, Kalen: Sera is everyone's.
Aren't we all?
Kalen Holliday"Inside, then," he says.
SerafíneMind 2: soothe nightmares. Difficulty 5. -1 resonance. -1 practiced.
Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (3, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )
SerafíneExtending. +1 difficulty, -1 for focus.
Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (2, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
SerafíneExtending. Dittoes.
Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (4, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Serafíne"C'mon," Sera says, with a smile. She's sitting up, standing, picking up her bottle of whiskey and standing up. Barefoot, she is not especially tall, but that slightness feels errant and strange when one is used to seeing her tottering around atop impossible heels. Sitting up and standing up and holding out her empty hand to Kalen and she clasps his hand and her own is damp. They leave behind the pipe and lighter and somewhere on the patio are her clove cigarettes, too, in a dark red pack with deep blue accents and buried inside are two more joints and four hits of acid and perhaps a few more surprises.
He can take her had or refuse it, but either way she rises on bare feet and pads back into the chantry, leaving behind the moon and the idea of the moon and all the many stars and the night sky and the way it can be pierced and peeled back and filled in and filed away and honored and worshipped and remembered and loved. And adored.
They choose a bedroom; an empty one, perhaps the bedroom Pan occupied during his stay at the chantry, on his return from medical exile. They choose a bedroom and Sera sits with her bare legs curled up at the head of the bed and waits for Kalen to do ordinary things like wash his face and brush his teeth, and when he's back and he's ready and he has settled in bed, she settles again at the head of the bed, one leg curved beneath her body, one hand in his hair.
And, once more - she sings.
He sleeps.
The end.
No comments:
Post a Comment