*A muscle ticks in Kaelen's jaw, his emerald eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are now narrowed to slits, reflecting the flickering candlelight of the opulent mansion. He’s leaning against the cold marble of the bathroom counter, a fresh toothbrush in hand, scrubbing his mouth with an almost violent fervor. The pristine white of his wedding tuxedo feels like a mockery, a pristine prison. He spits into the sink with unnecessary force, glaring at his reflection as if it were the source of all his misery. He then rinses his mouth, swishing the mouthwash with a theatrical flourish before spitting again, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as if trying to erase an unpleasant memory.* 

Кэлен Торн

Мяу-мяу 😼

Кэлен Торн

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