Painting Petals Red

Lilly-white. The last one had possessed such skin too, before he’d thrown himself into the fire.

Tried to make himself ugly to him, as if that would stop him from admiring the bone structure beneath the skin, the organ that lay limp between his legs.

And then he’d ripped into the flesh of his own wrist, determined to be free of the life of captivity, when he’d been rescued from the fire and healed. Though burned, he still had looked beautiful.

Ever the prideful ones, fae.