“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
― Anais Nin
25 DECEMBER 2021- LONDON PORTAL
The blow made Archer to stagger behind, almost knocked him down on his left knee as the pain shot up his jaw like fire. He cringed. It exploded in his head with a blinding whiteness. It made him dizzy. It made him reel. The pain was like needles that had been dipped in alcohol had been jammed through his skin, like his jaw had been replaced with ice and electricity wired straight through his neck and into his spine.
Archer wiped the blood dribbling from his busted lip that William had just spilt with the back of his hand.
