ANDRÉ BAUDELAIRE
I had toured the world for a century to conclude that there were only two things I considered gripping enough to be termed beautiful. A splash of different colours of paint on an artist's canvas and nature. They were unrivalled until she came into the picture.
It should be labelled as a form of sorcery how I was taken by the sight of her all sprawled on my bed that was covered in black satin sheets, clad in the silk lavender thin-strapped nightwear that Ophelia had begrudgingly changed her into after she fell asleep last night. The dress looked like it was made solely for her, clinging to her body in a way that rendered me jealous of the fabric.
Due to how much she must have tossed around, it rode dangerously up her thigh and I didn't make any attempt to adjust it becau
