Queen of the archaic aisle her debris of commands and dictation honored by the dark queen of war why wouldn't she flinch with slamming ghouls against the barricades
She was not brought up rightfully
The Thorne wasn't even hers to start supposedly it pertained to her late husband who invariably hurt her while she was conflicting her fist into the empty room of the ocean as the sun of feathers watches over her
Freedom of finally breathing was within her will
And now as she flees beneath the walls of the torture of antiques but if the glasses decoded to cling together just because her base was made of her blood that assassinates her associate in the war of translucency when they tried poisoning her flesh with the controversy of anger when she finally left her marriage of ages
No one were understanding in believed what made her move in such an accent
Breathing you shall but never suffocated between each saliva
Promises occurred not meant to be kept but known to be crushed
She was down yet ferocious
She was finding hope in how to stand
But her reaction was boldly cold
Society assumed she was shaky leaving her husband of ages because they didn't know the variety of her gallon bloodshot eyes
Despite the thousand embodiments, she made in her past life but she believed in the hope of a perfect life
Said as her words chime within the dams of the castle that the strongest drive inside of a submissive, underneath all their emotional scars, is for the Master to push aside any curtains or fences they may have erected to separate them from their true self, the naked, vulnerable soul. Because that soul wants only one thing. Do you want to know what that is?"
I don't want to know. That's not what the training's about."
"Wrong. That's what submissive training is all about. Preparing past those shields so she feels truly bound to her Master, a portion of him as he's a part of her. The extreme connection, where the thought isn't necessary. They're together most essentially and perfectly there is
While in the art gallery as people sobbed in her sad story of how she died tragically signal were given as the thunder of ghost rash through the sky of beautiful Paris
Agape as people fathom ashes stray
Crook her head of delicacy sipping the bottle of rosé wine with the lush beautiful lips
The message was across all vigilance mysterious yet skeptical assurance of polarized
She was indeed Queen Tamara named for her late deeds as a dark queen
Clash in roses yet she falls
Snow of portraits yet she bargains her soul with
Slow but steady everyone is meant to be lost in the hallucinations of dreams wondering who is Queen Tamara
mystery inside the flower bud."
I can still relish the different nuances of the stronger flavors." He studied the orchid in the center of the table. "With the very delicate, you sculpt something down to such a whisper of form, there's nothing else it can be. It's in resilience that you find marvels and fluctuation.