"...even if it meant that she had failed, she was glad. and if what she'd wanted had been impossible from the start, still there was a certain lonely comfort in the fact that she'd known it was impossible and had gone and done it anyway." - the little friend, donna tartt
deep lips consuming the blue shadow casters that dance and cackle in the light of the full moon. night eyes, dark, emerging from the shadows, speaking in foreign tongues. hunger satiated by the gentle touch of winter kisses.
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