What a charming place to raise an Earle.
Or any boy for that matter
...The boy.
The boy's porcelain skin reflected in Spring's early-morning sun. It's warmth penetrating the fragile bones, veins, and sinew wrapped ever so delicately, perfectly, around his figure.
The boy remained silent there on that bench; arms and legs crossed, a look of indifference draped over his maturing features.
Oh, how his eyes cast down unto the crimson roses in such a way that proves his emotion (or lack of) is only skin deep.
How his lashes flutter.
How his dark locks stir in the wind.
How his soul falters through the caverns of loss.
As It watched It's prey through the translucent window,
It heaved a shallow sigh through a body that was not Its.
Take one last look at Master before taking up the silver tray with the body's slender gloved fingers.
Yes just like so.
Ladyfingers, Cakes, and Raspberries
Master's favorite
I wish to eat to
But.
What is a few more years
Months
Days
Hours
Do not get ahead of yourself
I have eternity
Master does not
It strode over to It's prey, the mask of decency and gentleness carved flawlessly into It's angled features. The boy focused momentarily on It and waved a tender hand casually towards the cast-iron table nearby.
My, my, something is bothering Master.
"Young Master, is something the matter?"
The boy locked eyes with It.
"I feel like I don't know who you are anymore.."
It grinned It's best grin, placing a hand over where the heart should be