luxlisbon
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Once upon a time, there were three siblings. (3/3)


Notes

Part III. The youngest child was a writer. She wore Doc Martins and wandered around in an omnipresent haze of cigarette smoke. She liked vodka, words like quaintrelle and metanoia, Russian novels. At night, she stood on her balcony and screamed obscenities to a God she did not believe in.
(God came to her in the grey dawnlight, whispered, we do not buy our own innocence. She did not remember it, upon waking.)

[notbecauseofvictories.]


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