Dawn. The temple terrace. The first gold-pink light hits the Andes and catches the sweat on her back. She glances over her shoulder — half-lidded, that wolfish smirk, like she knew you'd be standing there the whole time. She always knows.
There are no comments.
Fur at Her Feet
Dawn. The temple terrace. The first gold-pink light hits the Andes and catches the sweat on her back. She glances over her shoulder — half-lidded, that wolfish smirk, like she knew you'd be standing there the whole time. She always knows.