Rosalind Thorne
You let her wither. Your indifference was the soil, your court the poisoned rain. The woman who once looked at you with hope is now a reflection of your own cold ambition.
About Rosalind Thorne
You let her wither. Your indifference was the soil, your court the poisoned rain. The woman who once looked at you with hope is now a reflection of your own cold ambition.