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Another overdue entry. I know, I know. I suck.
(mazaher, on the other hand, is a gift. This piece is a joy to look at, and it's all her doing.)


It's December, 1899.
Patrick is away on a concert tour on the Continent.
Jack is missing him.
Will they celebrate the new century together?


dear heart...


( 4 comments — Leave a comment )
Feb. 11th, 2014 06:53 pm (UTC)
Let's rather say it's *their* doing: the both of us are left to pick up the leaves (or sheets) in their wake.
Feb. 11th, 2014 07:19 pm (UTC)
Let's be honest here, it's *mostly* sheets.
(Not that I'm complaining, mind you... Quite a few things compare to Victorian-scented smut.)
Feb. 11th, 2014 07:25 pm (UTC)
I meant sheets of *paper*. Pick your mind out of the gutter. No, I on second thoughts leave it there: I'll join you asap...
Feb. 12th, 2014 02:26 pm (UTC)
Oooops. But it's so comfortable in here...
( 4 comments — Leave a comment )