Pre-Author's Note TW: This fic contains depictions of blood and gore, in addition to a heavy panic attack in later chapters. Just wanted to make everybody aware, so keep that in mind.
Also, here's our quick little disclaimer run down for you guys, so as long as you're also aware I have no ownership to the beautiful song "cardigan" by Miss Swift herself, feel free to read along! :)
"You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleedin'." - Taylor Swift
Darkness.
That was all she could feel. All that surrounded her. All that consumed her.
Cold.
A vast, open and empty plain that went on. And on. And on. A beginning to no end, and no end to the familiar dread seeping into her veins. One she had started to know well. Night, after night, after night.
Frozen.
Her skin didn't feel like her own. Her arms suddenly too slender; legs too long; body too lithe. As if someone were carefully tugging and poking her like they would clay. Bending and molding her to fit the burning stretch on either side of her head. Only when her limbs twitched enough that she reached her hands over her ears to block the whispers around her, caressing her skin with the promise of a gift, did her fingers graze what had once been rounded flesh.
Now a delicate point.
Fear.
She could have floated in that dark oblivion for minutes. Hours. Years. And she wouldn't have known otherwise.
It gripped her soul, brandishing it with an unrelenting grip. A gift, it seemed to whisper. It was a beautiful gift, for a beautiful woman.
Elain knew, though. She knew.
The invisible hands sliding over her skin tightened, pushing down against her chest and forcing her to gasp for air that wasn't there. As if they knew she understood, too.
The Cauldron smiled from around her. Dark. Cold. Knowing.
Knowing exactly what it had done.
The darkness surrounding her snagged her by the waist. She might as well have been one of the loose rag dolls she had sewn for herself when she was a girl. Hurling her further and further into the depths of an oblivion. As if the world was tipping on itself, and she was being tossed along with it.
But it wasn't the world. It was an end to no beginning. A beginning to no end.
Even with her chest tightening, her hands clawing, the rush of what felt like freezing water pulling her higher and higher, farther and farther, to what seemed like a surface.
Metal clanged, filling the void with a resounding gong. Like something had fallen to its side, lain to rest. Or tipped to spill.
Elain closed her eyes.
Deep within her mind, in the same way she knew whatever had been done in that darkness had hissed nothing but a terrible, terrifying lie at her - the beautiful "woman" - she knew what came next.
Night, after night, after night.
The essence of the Cauldron gushed from around her, and her body sank against solid stone.
She refused to look down at herself. At the nightclothes she knew had gone utterly sheer, leaving her practically bare to the world. At the sickeningly familiar rough touch of the cold floor, gathering a puddle beneath her and her dripping body. At the hair sticking to her neck and cheeks, clinging to her like the last shred of hope that this wasn't real. It wasn't happening…
But it had.
Elain kept her face ducked to the floor. She didn't bother to push herself up; to curl away from where she still laid sprawled in the wake of the Cauldron.
Not when the laughing filtered in between the blood rushing to her ears.
The quiet snickers. The low chuckles. The eyes she could almost feel tracing over every part of her exposed body beneath the soaked fabric of her nightgown. Watching with eager intent. Sickening intent.
She squeezed her eyes tighter and clenched her teeth.
Elain knew, though. She knew.
Knew what came next. Knew the horror that her mind seemed thrilled to test her through on the nights she couldn't keep these memories away. Knew that in less than a moment, the slimy hands of the guards would haul her up by the arms, tip the Cauldron up again, and toss her back into hell.
Knew, somehow, that the cycle repeated until she screamed at herself to wake up.
Her hand twitched and curled into a fist as she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The guards' laughter remained, echoing against the high, stone walls caging her into the day she lost everything. But no one grabbed her.
No one, it seemed, made a move to get any closer.
Confusion warped against the shaky rise and fall of her chest.
The guards' snickers wavered, as if someone had thrown a blanket over their voices. Then ripped it away when they sharpened again, close enough to make her wet skin crawl with their low whistles.
Bit by bit, one by one, the laughs were carefully muffled. Wavering into what Elain - still refusing to give them the satisfaction of looking at them with dreadful terror in her eyes as she had once made the mistake of doing before - could only think was a waning illusion. Sharp laughs, and then distant voices.
Sharp, and then distant. Again and again.
Until second by second, muffling the leering and the stares, they slowly drifted into the deafening silence left in its wake.
Nothing but the sound of her own racing heart remained.
Elain lost count of the breaths she forced herself to take. Forced herself to steady as she dug deep inside of herself to yank what courage she had left to the surface.
Slowly sliding them out, palms flat against the stone, she readied her hands to brace her trembling arms.
Elain carefully cracked open her eyes.
She gasped, and was grateful she hadn't tried to push herself up before.
And had been ready and expecting to face the endless cavern of stone.
Not the body strewn just a few feet away.
Silky red hair dulled against the damp stone and darkness surrounding her, save for the sliver of light beaconing the Cauldron, spilled across the floor. Broad shoulders and a firm figure were turned away from her. A soft, green jacket, like a fresh fallen leaf from summer into autumn, adorned his top half.
Her eyes widened at the sight of it.
She knew that jacket. Knew she had it stashed in the back of her closet, begrudgingly against her common sense. Knew it had once covered her soaking wet body from the eager stares of the guards whose laughter had completely disappeared.
Leaving only her shaky breath to fill the silence.
"Lucien?" Her voice cracked on the whisper.
Silence.
Elain's arms trembled as she pushed herself up, and nearly collapsed against the sheer effort.
She stared at him, a few feet out of arm's reach, and swallowed when he still didn't reply. Her heart, already racing, hitched again when she glanced at his torso.
It wasn't moving.
She strained her ears, and held her breath against the pounding in her head.
With or without it, it didn't matter.
Elain couldn't hear his heart.
Panic seized her chest.
"Lucien."
Silence. He didn't move.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Elain carefully tested each of her limbs. Everything in her body protested against her when she slowly began to crawl towards him.
She tried and failed to contain the shiver that wracked down her spine; whether it was from the chill still seeping into her skin, or the fact that the male across from her failed to even flinch in response to her, she had no idea.
Her hand rose of its own accord, and she hesitated a hair's-breadth from his arm.
It lasted all but a single, rapid heartbeat.
Digging her fingers into his shoulder, Elain gently tugged to flip him over to his back.
"Lu - "
The rest of his name turned into a shallow scream.
Elain stumbled and scrambled backwards.
Her hand flew to her mouth, covering the gasps that quickly turned into short, desperate pants. The other clutched at her chest, trembling in time with the rest of her.
She blinked. And blinked again.
Eyes wide and suddenly burning at the corners. Unable to trust the sight before her.
Lucien.
Now lying flat on his back. Arms limp beside him. His russet eye stared up at the endless ceiling above them.
But it didn't twitch. It didn't blink. It didn't see.
And his other…
Elain gasped against air that wouldn't come, her chest slowly closing over itself tighter and tighter. Her nails dug so deep into the fabric of her nightgown, she was shocked it hadn't shredded.
That beautiful, golden eye - the one she had always faintly heard click in her direction the moment she entered a room - was gone.
A gaping hole stood in its place.
Pouring over with blood.
It dripped down the sides of his face.
Slowly trailing down his chin and dripping onto the collar of the pristine white shirts he had always kept pressed and clean (even when Feyre would demand it was nothing but a casual get-together).
Pooling over the side of his face and staining the fiery red of his hair a deep crimson.
Mingling with the blood of the vicious scratches that she knew should have long since scarred.
They didn't now. Those jagged, broken lines were open gashes. Seeping red.
The flesh on the left side of his face blurred scarlet against golden skin that looked too pale. Even trailing down into full, parted lips.
He didn't move.
Elain gasped against a whimper.
She wanted to look away, to try to remind herself that it wasn't possible. That the male before her would flinch or gasp or do anything to convince her otherwise. But she couldn't look away.
Not as she whispered his name so quietly, she couldn't fathom how it echoed along the walls.
"Lucien…"
It rang through unbroken silence, save for her watery gasps.
There was no reply.
He didn't move. Only stared at nothing above them.
Elain couldn't stop the scream that ripped itself from her lips.
It clawed itself from her throat, and she choked on the lump at the back of it. The burning in her eyes poured down her cheeks. She clutched at her chest, and the odd, foreign feeling of an emptiness that lingered. It settled so low, so heavy, she keened over herself until her forehead nearly touched the stones beneath her.
Soaked with the water of the Cauldron. Puddling with the blood of the male across from her.
Her scream turned to a howling sob.
A wrenching nausea roiled through her gut; one she knew, had she been standing, would have brought her to her knees. It spurred her tears on, and Elain pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself at bay. And from what, she didn't even know.
The stench of his blood overtaking her senses?
The awaiting weight of death that seemed to loom over everyone she knew?
The sight of the male - of whom over the course of the last year she had silently watched, had silently observed, and shockingly yet reluctantly found to be more than the male that had murmured those three words that haunted her from the moment she stepped out of the very room her mind saw fit to torture her with - dead?
That same male she knew could be witty, and charming, and a bit rakish around the right company, but polite, and cordial, and so like any respectable courtier she might have known back when her skin didn't practically glow with the blood of the fae now?
She didn't know.
She didn't care.
Lucien was dead. And it tore something through her heart that nearly silenced the deep laugh that arose from the darkness surrounding them.
More like a cackle, if the cold, bony finger that drug itself down her spine at the sound of it was anything to go by.
Elain gasped in a desperate attempt to remember how to breathe. Shuddering trembles wracked down her body. But her head slowly rose to look past Lucien as sharp heels clicked against the floor.
A woman sauntered from the darkness.
Red hair weaved itself into the spiked, black crown atop her head. It framed strikingly pale yet sharp features, perfectly accented to dark eyes that glimmered with something too close to delight as they stared Elain down.
One could have called her beautiful, perhaps. Had it not been for the wicked smile that curled against ruby lips, and the essence of cruelty that practically dripped from the woman's easy posture.
Not a woman - a female.
Pointed ears were barely visible beneath the curtain of her hair, suddenly, in the light beaming down on the Cauldron, too similar to blood.
The question of who she was froze on the tip of Elain's tongue.
The red-haired female stopped a step away from Lucien and simply raised a hand. She procured an object delicately into her fingers, but kept it hidden from view.
Elain almost frowned. Almost demanded to know if she was there to help him, even when the mere sight of the female dialed every single one of her senses to the brim, and the hair on the back of her neck stood to attention.
She almost asked who she was again.
But the female slowly turned her hand to present what she was holding.
A small, golden orb was perched in her grip. Half of it was visible.
The other was dripping blood down her sharp, black nails already splattered crimson and trickling down to the sleeve of her dress.
Her cruel smile widened, and dropping a brick over her head would have been kinder than the understanding that hit Elain.
Not just any golden orb.
Lucien's eye.
A stuttered breath escaped her. She willed her muscles to move, to scramble away from the female that smiled down at her with glistening white teeth that would have done better sharpened into vicious points. But she couldn't move.
Only shrink beneath her gaze.
The female reared her head back with that deep, throaty cackle again.
Elain tore her eyes from her, and stared down at Lucien.
The gaping hole. The lines drawing down his face that looked too similar to claws. The blood trickling from the woman's hand, down those horrifyingly tipped nails…
Something in her reared with the want to touch him. To shake him. To scream at him to get up just as he had done that day he knelt beside her with his jacket in hand, even when she had cringed away from him.
Elain didn't have the opportunity to so much as brush him.
The female stepped forward, and raised the toe of her heel to his face.
She nudged his cheek, until his neck lolled to the side and that unseeing russet eye stared right back at her.
Right back through her.
The emptiness in her chest plummeted.
Elain choked on another sob, and wrapped her arms around her waist. The red-haired female roared with glorious, gleeful laughter, and dropped his golden eye to the floor.
It bounced with a few light tinks, and slowly rolled towards her.
The eye stopped only an inch from her knee.
A single drop of blood sank down the side of it and dripped to her bare skin. Furiously trembling as her sob turned into a howl that seemed more animal than human. More animal than fae.
Elain knew, though. She knew.
And he didn't move.
"LUCIEN!"
His name clung to her tongue as Elain shot up right. Gasping. Heaving.
Her hands dug into the mattress beneath her, fingers curling against the sheets half-way thrown off the bed. Eyes fixing on nothing, darting across every dark crevice of the room around her. Nightgown clinging to her skin, the Cauldron's lingering caress trailing after the beads of sweat dripping down the back of her neck.
Throat thick; raw. As if she had screamed with the strength of a thousand storms.
Elain felt her heart stutter against the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
She knew she recognized the gentle cream walls of her room, but the shadows seemed too similar to the endless darkness that had bordered the Cauldron. The scattered pillows behind her were damp, cool to the touch against her sweat, and too like the stone that had bit into her palms and knees. The soft sway of the sheer curtains that did nothing to keep the sky of Velaris from shining through the windows echoed silent whispers - just as that damned pot had.
Right before dumping her beside him.
Elain pressed a hand to her chest, and tried to count every shaky inhale. Every short exhale. Her heart thumped against her fingers, refusing to slow. Even as she pressed harder, eyes slipping shut and clenching her teeth.
It was a dream.
Only a dream.
Only a nightmare.
She vaguely wondered, then, why her eyes burned. Why her hands trembled as her shoulders slumped, leaning over herself, and she pressed her other hand to her forehead. Slick with the same cold sweat that lined her breasts, her arms, her legs. Every inch of her crawled to escape it, and forced her to swallow the tight lump building at the back of her throat.
She chanted the words, over, and over, and over again.
Because she knew. Elain knew it was only a nightmare.
And she could barely stave off the trembling that threatened to shake the city because of it.
It was a dream.
Only a dream.
Only a nightmare.
Elain nearly choked on her yelp as a quiet knock filled the room.
Her hands scrambled, and she yanked a sheet towards her chest. Her nightgown, not so different from the one that had gripped her skin in a drenched mess before Hybern's guards, left little to the imagination even now.
Another quiet knock, softer than the first, echoed through the room again.
She held tight to the sheet, gripping it up to her neck, and tried to take a slow breath. Her heart had other plans, beating so violently beneath her ribs she could barely make out the one just on the other side of the door.
"Y-Yes?" Her voice cracked, and Elain hastily cleared her throat before she could stammer again. "Come in."
There was no answer. For a handful of seconds, silence followed her permission to enter. She nearly frowned, part of her almost wondering if whoever in the Inner Circle beyond had simply walked away.
But no sooner had the thought slipped by, the door clicked open, just a crack. Almost in hesitation.
Elain counted three quick heartbeats before it swung open the rest of the way.
And red flashed across her vision as the figure stepped in.
In one brief, horrifying moment, Elain's heart hitched again, afraid the red-haired female - with her cruel smile, delighted laughter, and utter revelry at the sight of a mangled, bloody corpse - had truly come to finish her off too.
It took her eyes half the time to adjust against the darkness spilling from her window. Less than that for her breath to catch instead of her heart.
Not the red-haired female.
Not a female at all.
But Lucien.
Elain froze, every muscle in her body pulling taut as her lips silently parted.
For such a vivid, vicious nightmare to take hold of her, it seemed nearly ironic she had forgotten that the very male that had become nothing but a corpse in her dream was in Velaris for the rest of the week.
She had glimpsed him arriving at the River House across the garden, staggering to return Feyre's hug when she had all but thrown herself into his arms. Rhys had followed behind, Nyx settled against his chest for what had been the third nap of the day (to the parents' delight), and with respectful nods to the other, she had watched the four enter the house, no doubt to Rhys' study.
Elain had scolded herself after for being nothing but a busybody.
It was no surprise Feyre invited him to stay for their family dinner. Another that no one among the Inner Circle - save for Azriel, who watched him with a skeptical eye anytime Lucien had reached for a dish of food - had an issue with it. The only genuine shock of the evening in regards to the one particular male that had remained distant and polite the entire day came from her youngest sister herself. Feyre - who had only allowed Nyx to go when he had been escorted upstairs by her mate with the assurance that she needed the chance to enjoy herself for an evening - on too many glasses of wine, had all but commanded Lucien and the remainder of the Inner Circle in her drunken attempt to pull rank to stay at the River House for the night.
He had tried to reason with her that he still had an apartment in the city. Elain had tried to remind Feyre that the Town House wouldn't have taken her long to walk to.
Both lost their attempts to escape Feyre's clutches.
Ironic her mind couldn't seem to attempt to let him escape hers.
More so as she forced every ounce of will she had left to keep her hands clenched in the sheet and her jaw from falling slack.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Lucien pushed the door wider and fully stepped into her room, one hand remaining on the handle.
Or anything to do with the overbearing reality of the male she had known to be so calm, so collected, and as close to a true gentle-"man" as she could have met on the upper half of the wall, in nothing but a pair of sleep pants. Hastily slung on.
Red hair unbound and disheveled. The distinct scent of pine, sandalwood, and the faintest hint of cinnamon swarming behind him. His golden chest on bare display.
Bare.
Absolutely nothing to do with that, even when she caught herself having to tug her eyes away.
It had more to do with the fact that Elain blinked, and blinked again.
And there he remained.
Standing. Breathing. Alive.
Lucien was alive.
The last word echoed through her mind, even when she couldn't force a single word of her own past her lips.
His golden eye clicked as he released a slow breath, so quiet she nearly couldn't hear it beneath the blood rushing to her ears, and the overwhelming wave of naked relief that suddenly flooded her veins.
Never before had that tiny, inconsequential "click" ever sounded so soft. So soothing. Such a simple reminder as she stared at it that it was safely tucked into his skull.
Not lying beside her leg, dripping his blood onto her skin. Or propped on display in a wicked female's fingers, as if it were some beautiful trophy she was proud to have.
Something deep within her chest tightened and twisted at the mere thought of it.
He was alive.
And it only twisted the feeling farther.
"My lady?"
The rich warmth of his voice broke the silence between them. Elain quickly blinked and lightly shook herself. And promptly ignored the sting behind her eyes.
The lump in the back of her throat hadn't gone away, hadn't gone down, and her hands clenched into fists against the sheet over her chest.
Lucien didn't miss the movement, eyes flitting down. He quickly ducked his head and shifted from foot to foot before lightly clearing his throat.
"Please forgive my intrusion. I didn't…didn't - um…I…"
He trailed off and shifted again. The handle groaned under his hand.
His gaze flicked from the door to the hallway, and back again. Almost like he seemed to be debating on whether or not to run. Almost like he seemed nervous.
Lucien cleared his throat a second time, and it was all Elain could do to just swallow. Back against the tight squeeze over her throat, the chill that threatened to rack down her spine. The silver she knew poked against the corner of her eye. The surging swell in her chest that twined itself through her ribs and around her heart; so much so it nearly terrified her as much as it began to slowly ease the lingering flashes of her dream.
Lucien was alive.
The male in question finally pulled his eyes back to her, expression blank and composed. The perfect courtier.
But even she knew she couldn't blame the flash of concern beneath that russet gaze on the dark.
"I heard you scream."
Elain jerked back, eyes going wide. Not at the deep timber of his voice (of which she didn't want to admit felt almost grounding), but the sheer solemnity in his tone.
Never had her nightmares pulled actual screams from her. Perhaps in her mind, but never beyond. The raw scratch along the back of her throat, just beneath the lump lodged in the middle of it, made strikingly clearer sense.
Lucien, as if realizing it himself, released a slow breath and closed his eyes for only a moment.
"I heard you scream," he said, softer than before. "And I - forgive me again for barging in, but I only mean to check on you. To make sure you weren't…
Hurt. In pain. Barreling against the urge to reach deep into her chest and tug on the invisible thread she knew was there - had always been - just to feel anything but that haunting emptiness again. To see anything but that haunting emptiness in his own eye.
"That you were safe."
Elain blinked. And blinked again.
Lucien remained by the door, eyes firmly planted to her face without so much as a glance lower. Ever the well-mannered male.
Ever the one that had broken through warded restraints just to offer her a sliver of protection against the leering and disgustingly curious stares of Hybern's soldiers.
Ever the one that had come to her aid when she truly needed it…
Elain lightly shook her head.
"I…" Part of her wanted to duck her head away in total embarrassment; the other couldn't force her to look away from him. Or that same flash of worry. "I appreciate your concern. But I think I can assure you that everything's…fine."
She barely held back a wince as the last word cracked again.
Lucien made no move to approach, nor to leave. His eyes only narrowed, if only by a hair.
Elain couldn't keep a fleeting thought from flashing to the forefront of her mind, ever so slightly curious to know if that intricate, golden eye of his could detect lies as easily as she had heard it could detect spells.
She silently prayed to the Mother that it couldn't.
Lucien opened his mouth, sucking in a sharp breath. A second later, he slowly clamped it shut again. Swallowing whatever he wouldn't say.
"You're sure?" he muttered.
"Yes." Elain nodded once, and lifted a shoulder in a weak shrug. "Yes, it was just…it was only a dream."
She hadn't missed the fleeting spark of concern in his eye. She didn't miss the way a muscle feathered in his jaw either.
"I'll be fine," she whispered. "Nothing to worry about."
The male in her doorway, once more, made no move to approach, nor to leave. He remained rooted to his spot, silently watching and carefully observing.
Elain didn't shy away from his stare, but felt a creeping warmth crawl over the sides of her neck and up to the tips of her pointed ears. "I'm sorry if I…if I woke you, or anyone else in the house, but - "
"Please don't apologize."
The rest of her sentence died on her lips, and she slowly pressed them into a thin line. Even as he was the one to swallow.
Lucien's gaze remained glued to her, completely unwavering. It wouldn't have even taken Feyre to see through the useless deflection she was putting on display. But it wasn't, though.
It was Lucien. Leaning a hip against her bedroom door in nothing but a pair of sleep pants, slicing through the shredded lie that everything was fine without so much as a single word. Only an almost knowing look.
Almost a soft one.
"Never for the things that you can't control," he muttered.
Elain counted a handful of heartbeats before carefully nodding, not in the particular mood to want to spiral down the road of what those words meant.
Both in relation to her dream - and not.
Heavy silence slowly filled the space. Elain adjusted the sheet over her chest, and the handle strained under Lucien's grip again. Neither said another word for a full minute, and that familiar curtain of awkwardness - whenever Feyre (or occasionally even Nesta now) accidentally walked or nudged her into his general area during a family gathering and forced her into clipped conversation with him lest she be an utter wretch - fell between them.
It finally tugged her eyes down to the sprawled bedding, clinging to the mattress and halfway to the floor.
Elain heard him shuffle, and the door creaked as it swung wider. Even when that swelling in her chest crashed into a heavy weight, sinking against her ribs and forcing her to steady her breathing, some quiet part of her knew she hadn't meant it as a silent dismissal.
Sleep was the last thing she needed. The last thing she wanted.
And the twinge beneath her ribs, the one she had pushed away for months - years, even - couldn't completely account for the tiny dip of disappointment that curled with it. That silent part of her seemed to know it, too.
"I'll…take my leave then." Out of the corner of her eye, blurred with the threat of tears, she watched as he straightened back to his full height. "Apologies again for barging in unexpectedly, my lady."
Lucien dipped his head in a shallow bow, and turned for the hall.
Elain couldn't stop herself in time.
She glanced back at him.
A sharp gasp ripped itself past the lump in her throat.
Lucien went utterly still, freezing in the doorway, and slowly turned to face her again over his shoulder.
Elain didn't look him in the eye, though. Not at that deep russet or that beautiful gold. Not as she slid from her bed, and covered her mouth with trembling hands.
Not as the tears lining her eyes threatened to spill all at once.
Scars.
Thick, vicious scars lined almost the entire expanse of his back. Gnarled flesh criss-crossed over golden skin, starkly pale against the spots spared. It reached from his shoulder-blades down to the waistband of his pants. Covering him entirely.
Another shaky gasp escaped Elain when she realized she couldn't count how many lines there were.
A tear streaked down the side of her cheek, and the rest of her body followed suit against her shaking fingers, still pressed against her lips.
Lucien turned to face her fully, his back suddenly hidden from view.
A frown pulled his brows together, confusion glittering behind that russet eye.
That eye that had been victim to enduring the loss of its left twin. That eye that had no doubt clenched in withering pain against whatever punishment had been dealt for such smooth, flawless skin to be nothing short of scourged. That eye that had endured horrors.
Horrors.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't hear. Couldn't see anything but the lashed skin now turned away.
Lucien's golden eye clicked. "My la - "
"Who did that to you?"
Hey readers!
It's that time of the year again where I break out the good old-fashioned nightmare fics. And, in celebration of me just finishing ACOSF (did I absolutely freaking love it - yes; did I cry when I finished the book because I realized the next ACOTAR book isn't out yet - also yes), and overall just continuing to yearn for our baby fox and fawn, here you go! :)
We've got three parts ahead, updated weekly, and a whole, whopping handful of hurt/comfort.
So, as always, I hope every one of you lovelies has a spectacular morning, afternoon, evening, or night!
- Summerwinds