The itsy bitsy spider
went up the water spout.
down came the rain,
and washed the spider out.
out came the sun,
and dried up all the rain.
so, the itsy bitsy spider
went up the spout again.
#hotdrp — more information below.
Mind her not for her 𝑔𝒾𝑔𝑔𝓁𝑒 is loud. Her gaze is awfully fond, smile wide as her sweet handmaiden’s.
❝You are pretty, Marelle. You wear the skin and heart of someone beautiful.❞
She whisks the gold of @bugdevour’s crown off the prettiness of silver locks. She offers a silly smile, wide and bright as she rests it upon her own cranium.
❝I am almost as pretty as you.❞
She reaches for the wrist bruised, hesitantly and fingertips ghost against the vile colours of green and purple.
❝I should not have had a jest,❞ she bites down on the side of her cheek. ❝Why did he do it this time? Grandsire has no right to put a hand on you.❞
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❝Come here,❞ she beckons to him. ❝I am sorry.❞
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❝And 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 vile thing has he done now?❞
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Oblivious nature—she draws a finger down Marelle’s jaw, to look over youthful features, pretty as her own.
❝My mother is sweet, that much is true,❞ she murmurs, gaze faraway. ❝I wish you could meet my sister. She would adore you.❞
❝Well enough, Marelle. Oh,❞ a gasp: soft and barely audible as she reaches to tug a strand of her hair to rest it behind a ear. ❝You look so pretty in 𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓷, than red.❞
@bugdevour
❝The sun is as bright as your smile, on this good morrow. I trust you are well?❞
She 𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓈 on strings of flesh, foot meeting the floor before pushing off to rest against her knee. When she is 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉, she spins back to him—fingers splaying to cradle his cheeks.
❝Destiny will be the judge and executioner of such fact. Aegon can be kind.❞
𝐼𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓇 thuds in her veins, setting skin alight with an 𝓌𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 red upon the curve of her cheeks. She tugs him close, lips ghosting against lips as she whispers:
❝And 𝓎𝑜𝓊 will have your bride. I can take a 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 husband, no? 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈.❞
She 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 into his touch, shudder poisoning her weak spine. Fingers entwine, and eyes close as her head turns—a soft chuckle had.
❝Only 𝓎𝑜𝓊 can turn my head with such sweetness.❞
𝐹𝓇𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 has her fingers reaching, to draw him back into her yearning arms—to give one, final peck upon lips. She swallows her silent 𝒸𝓇𝓎: for this boy, is naught but 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇 than the gods.
❝Dance, 𝓌𝑒 shall.❞
ℜ𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔱 weaves with her bones, a spider that wraps up her flesh in silk—all 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 for a feast. Red wine tastes like vile guilt.
He 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈 differently, to what she is used to—no wine, no sharp teeth sinking into her lips. She draws him closer, 𝐯𝐮𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 upon her sweet bones. She feasts on his sweetness, quiet and primal passion found in 𝓈𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓉𝓎.
A 𝑔𝒾𝑔𝑔𝓁𝑒 blooms from her chest, soft and mirth spews with a twitch of the corners of her lips. She kisses him with such 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 with each gentle brush of lips, fingers curling into his jacket.
She 𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓼 sweet lips besides @honourvows’, hand seeking familiarity—fingers curling with his. 𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 given, far from the blight of a husband.