Re: The New Bride/The Bohemian
Phoenix lived their life out loud but also in subtle shades of off-white, neither eggshell nor soot. The metal staircase of the train’s entrance was hard and cold steel against their glutes, and their arms were propped against bony knees. The bride was fascinating, no? Pretty, with soft lines that they wanted to reach out and touch. The bottle of opium was even prettier.
They smirked, chin propped up in hand. “I have it on good authority that we won’t get moving until you share your prize with me,” and out came a stubby-fingered hand, shades of sunset pastels ground into the lines of their palm. They curled and uncurled in quick succession. “That ring looks about ready to fall off. You’re a curious one, eh?”