pxntmercy:

@euphrrasie | starter call

                   ❝ — I often worry for you, ❞ he admits, sheepishly. such is a boy in love, a man brought to his knees. this is the fifth time he was come to her garden with her knowledge, but the first time bearing gifts ( or second? ). it is not much; he has no fortune with which to spoil her with, so he makes do. it is a small bouquet; a matter of a few dozen wildflowers. numerous, but small nonetheless. he presses it beside her lap, on their bench. ❝ i worry that one day i - might lose you. ❞ 

                           _{her gift for him is a sweet thing. a sight to behold, she smiles. is it possible to feel like this ? oh youth, oh love. have wildflowers ever been more exquisitely beautiful ? has a bouquet of them ever had more value than diamonds themselves ? she adores them, for it is her marius that has given them to her. gentle hand finds it’s rightful place upon the lover’s own, ❛ you mustn’t think of that, monsieur — ❜  deep blues gaze at him like one might look at the stars.  ❛ ours is a chain we’ll never break. ❜}