tfln open post

[byanyname]

***

either leave a message (or set of muses) for one of my assholes, or request a message from one of them. choose messages from the classic source, from your own skull, or whatever you may please.

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[lostyourheart]

[ There's a delay. Of course there's a delay: nevermind the loss of English entirely. Think of the shellshock of reading something so explicit - yes, from her husband, yes, from someone who has done those things, but - still, she is a good Christian girl (murder aside), she has never been spoken to in this way, certainly has never read such a thing.

In public. With aforementioned friends standing not two feet away, waiting with her for the hansom.

She drops her phone, scrambles to pick it up, red-faced and clutching it to her breast in both hands. Stares unseeing at Venetia, who believes, truly believes, Katrina is going to her demise.

Maybe she is. She is barely breathing. (That is. An image indeed, and one certain to remain.)

(Well. She started it. She did start it.

No - wait. He started it, the brute!)

The other woman says something commiserating, something about the rigorous demands of marriage. Of tending to one's household duties. Katrina very nearly laughs, half-panicked. She manages a small and ambiguous noise instead. Madeleine makes some comment that goes unmarked, but likely isn't flattering at all.

The conversation carries on unheeded as she returns her attention to the message she can barely process. ]

If I faint, the delay in my return to you will be your own fault.

I may faint.