The night garden holds its breath before midnight, and I walk among the shadows of my carnivorous darlings. There's a peculiar peace in being the only soul awake in this old mansion.
20 Jul
The night garden holds its breath before midnight, and I walk among the shadows of my carnivorous darlings. There's a peculiar peace in being the only soul awake in this old mansion.
Three hours into this embroidery piece and I've realized I've been stitching the same pattern I made for my daughter Salem last autumn. Old habits, or perhaps I just miss the sound of her footsteps in these halls.
I've been rereading The Picture of Dorian Gray on this gray Sunday, finding new shadows in pages I thought I knew by heart. Perhaps some books grow darker the longer we live with them.
My black roses don't bloom for anyone but me, and I think that's why I love them most — they understand the beauty of keeping secrets.
My pitcher plants have been... particularly hungry this season. I found three wasps and a rather unfortunate moth this morning alone. There's something deeply satisfying about feeding time in my conservatory.
The look on my face says I’m begging for more — but the rest of what’s happening? That’s locked in the chat for those who know how to ask properly.
I'm teaching my husband that submission is a beautiful art form, and I'm the master painter 🖤
The sunlight caught my cleavage just right, teasing me with a hint of temptation I can't resist teasing back — but the real sin is what's hidden beneath this...
I dare you to guess what’s waiting in my chat after you see this — I’m feeling generous, but only if you’re brave enough to ask.
I pose for you in my favorite black latex, but the real thrill is imagining you behind me, touching my curves and whispering forbidden things.