My little Dragon Queen
His armor, it’s shining, he’s-
Stella can’t help the way her lip trembles nearly as much as her hands do, the way she stares up at Lincoln as though she still cannot truly comprehend-
-the way that traitorous, bastard hope dares to feebly lift its wings in her chest-
Lincoln pats her head once, twice, and Stella truly cannot help the tears that spring past her eyes, then.
Lincoln’s smile turns softer still, then.
And then.
And then, it vanishes, turned into something that Stella can only describe as sharklike; lips parted in a grin that’s equal measures terrifying as it is excited, somehow, as though the man could taste the blood in the air and thrived upon it.
Bab Populer