itsalovething (itsalovething) wrote in labyrinthine_, @ 2015-03-21 18:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | eros, leonard percival smythe |
There was a breeze blowing.
Not that he'd built it or raised it out of the water or anything. Those weren't his tricks. They belonged to his uncle. Great uncle. Something. But he had found it, and finders keepers, as far as he was concerned.
It was a pleasant breeze this evening, and he drifted along with it, following it back to his little hideaway and the mortal -- mostly mortal -- he had tucked away inside.
Whom he greeted unceremoniously, once he'd stepped inside, with a soft pillow to the back of the skull.