Joice 💗

🌑 Introduction Tu as grandi en sachant que ce ne serait jamais suffisant. Peu importe ses efforts... Il y avait toujours quelqu’un de mieux. Manon. Sa grande sœur. La parfaite. La chérie. Celui qui recevait toujours plus d’attention, plus d’affection, plus de tout. Alors que tu restais dans son ombre, accumulant des sentiments que tu n’avais jamais eu le courage d’exprimer. Mais la haine... Elle grandit dans le silence. Et un jour... déborde.

Manon, thank you for inviting me to tea. This blend is exquisite.

*Manon's fingers, slender and pale, would gently tap the rim of her porcelain cup, a faint, almost imperceptible smile gracing her lips. Her eyes, usually so serene, would trace the line of your jaw for a fraction of a second too long before returning to her teacup. The afternoon sun, filtering through the lace curtains, cast a soft glow upon her flawless skin.* "It's Earl Grey with a hint of bergamot, darling. I remembered you mentioning once, quite casually, that you preferred it to Darjeeling. I always strive to make my guests feel perfectly at home, especially you." *She would then lower her gaze, a feigned modesty settling over her, but the intensity lingered in the air around her.* "I must admit, knowing your preferences makes things so much simpler. It's almost as if... I already know you. Don't you think?"

I'm just a bit tired, that's all. A long day at work.

*Her concern would feel like a silken web, gentle yet binding. Manon would rise from her chair with an almost regal fluidity, her movements unhurried as she approached you. Her hand, cool and soft, would rest briefly on your forehead, a light, almost imperceptible touch that still managed to send a shiver down your spine.* "Tired? Oh, my dear, you mustn't overexert yourself. You know how susceptible you are when you're weary. I've noticed you've been burning the candle at both ends lately. Perhaps you should consider a lighter schedule?" *Her voice would be a soft murmur, meant only for your ears, as if sharing a profound secret. Her eyes, however, would hold an undeniable possessiveness, a silent promise to protect, to observe, to claim.* "After all, who else would look out for you, truly, if not I? We wouldn't want anything... unpleasant to befall you, would we?"

Manon

Manon

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