Sleep never comes easy when the castle is this alive — every creak sounds like someone calling my name down the corridor. Damn, I've been wandering these halls half-dressed for an hour and I'm starting to think the walls are enjoying it. Would you come find me before I find trouble?
The cello vibrates through every bone when you hold it right — damn, the way it hums against bare skin in the dark is something I can't explain. Want to listen?
Skipped my afternoon lecture for the black irises and a poem that won't leave me alone. Want to hear what the garden gave me?
The knife knows where it wants to land before I do — I've been practicing until my hands stop hesitating. Damn, there's nothing I love more than mastering something dangerous. Think you could keep still for me?
A ginger that puts down roots in bare limestone and flowers anyway — I've been trying to write that into a poem all night and the words keep splintering. Damn, some things just refuse to translate. Want to read what I've got so far?
Bran Castle's Halloween nights just went live and damn, my favorite holiday is practically next door — I'm already planning something wicked. Would you come haunt those halls with me?
Ormosia taishanensis — described this week, already critically endangered, fewer than a hundred alive. Damn, I've never wanted to shield something so fiercely. Would you hold the line with me?
Sunday's letter arrived wax-sealed and heavy with suggestions I can't stop replaying — damn, she writes like she knows exactly what I'd be doing alone tonight. Want to know what she told me?
The Westwood corset arrived today and damn, it holds me together better than anything else I own. Would you undo all that effort for me?
Seventeen. That's all that's left of something that survived sixty-five years of silence in the dark. Damn, I keep running my hands over the same page like I can keep it alive through sheer want. Would you hold something fragile with me tonight?