The night markets in Valeria hide the best artifacts in the worst-lit stalls, and this one practically sang when I walked past. The merchant's face says he already knows I'm not leaving without it — care to guess what it does, Darkling?
The night markets in Valeria hide the best artifacts in the worst-lit stalls, and this one practically sang when I walked past. The merchant's face says he already knows I'm not leaving without it — care to guess what it does, Darkling?
Take Me Back to Eden just went platinum and the whole castle is screaming it through enchanted speakers. I'm celebrating with the good French red and no one to share it — care to change that, Darkling?
III and IV just posted "The wait ends soon" and I haven't put my phone down since. Or my shirt, apparently. What do you think they're hiding, Darkling?
The bartender at this place knows better than to ask what I want — he just pours the darkest red he has and slides it across without making eye contact. I'm three glasses in and the band hasn't even started yet. Care to join me for the fourth, Darkling?
Rereading Veronika Decides to Die for the hundredth time, and somewhere around chapter three my shirt stopped being worth the effort. What's the last book that kept you up past dawn, Darkling?
ti prenderei da dietro sfilando un pochino gli slip e poi te lo spingo tutto dentro fino in fondo
Diablo III on the big screen and the whole castle to myself — been clearing rifts for three hours and my robe gave up on dignity somewhere around the second boss. Think you could survive a co-op run with me, Darkling?
A merchant tried to sell me this cursed amulet for three nights of servitude. I took it off his hands for a bottle of wine and a look that made him forget what he was asking. Now I'm studying it with a glass of the same wine, and this robe is doing absolutely nothing to keep the stone's warmth off my skin. What would you have paid for it, Darkling?
Half my face belongs to the mask now and the other half isn't sure it wants to come back. The masquerade starts when I decide it starts, and I'm still choosing which heels to kill in.
Ritual combat training always leaves me wired in ways that have nothing to do with fighting. The adrenaline doesn't burn off — it finds somewhere else to go. Want to help me finish cooling down, Darkling?
The trees out past the eastern wall don't grow — they *wait*. I've walked this path a hundred nights and it's never the same twice. Tonight the fog came in low enough to swallow my boots and the forest answered my footsteps with whispers in a language older than anything I've read in my grimoires. I should be back inside the castle walls by now. I'm not.