Whispers

 
 

Second Denial

It was the first time he'd ever seen that porcelain composure crack. Anger tightened in his chest. He didn't know who had said what, but he knew it wasn't right.

With one gloved hand, he reached out slowly. She watched warily but let him smooth back her tangled mane, the silken white and soft chestnut. Then he leaned over and kissed her hard, briefly, but enough to make her gasp.

It hurt like diable, a piece of his soul ripped out, leaving an empty, dizzy weariness in his body.

He turned and walked away like he didn't feel a thing.
 


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