bouchonne: (drunken pontificating)
Byerly Vlad Rutyer ([personal profile] bouchonne) wrote 2020-10-30 02:17 am (UTC)

Nor do I, truth be told.

[ He stops his ministrations, instead leaning forward to press his cheek against Bastien's shoulder. ]

When I was young, she was there. But after a certain point, she ceased to be. She stopped leaving bed - and we had no servants, of course, so it's not like in those romantic tales, where the lady with the broken heart is tended to in gentle beauty. A chamber-pot ought not sit for a week.

[ But. ]

My father was a bastard, but my mother was never unkind to me.

[ Sometimes, the best you can hope for. ]

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