thelure:iris is not sure who she is, torn between the morals her mother taught her and the lifestyle
thelure:iris is not sure who she is, torn between the morals her mother taught her and the lifestyle her grandparents gave her. she’s ashamed to admit she wants it. that she’s taunted by the manors of old money which hardly seems an appropriate term, with how ancient it all goes back. opulence runs deep, tempting her to sell her soul to have it all.aesthetics: light reflecting off sea water, glistening // the sound of rain beating through an open window // diamonds sparkling in candle light // the rising sun during golden hour // chapped lips peeled raw // lucid daydreams that turn into deja vu // teeth grazing bruising skin // an ancient chateau gathering dust // the weight of a family legacy in the palm of a long thin hand // the tinkle of crystal cups smashing against a white wall // the shadow that catches in the corner of your eye making mistrust your aloneness // the pleasant burn of attention // the insatiable pit of hunger, mouth watering for more. first impressions: like a midsummer’s day, she warms the room as she walks in— heel first, then calves to long thighs that walk with the grace of a swan, to hips that sway in a way that makes any good moral man turn away with a blush, to long torso holding long arms and delicate hands, with narrow shoulders and blonde head. makes you quiver in your skin trying to guess what the mischievous smirk on her lips could mean. an easy warm smile is never too far away from a face so sharp and angular. crystal blue eyes dance wild like a storm rattled sea, there is an unwavering self confidence and certainty that emanates, almost intimidatingly so, from her glowing skin. she is a wild fire waiting to happen, waiting to engulf you whole. -- source link
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