Phoebe
It was no trouble to pick Phoebe up, her head lolling back and one arm falling to the side as she went totally limp in his hold. If it could, the Memory Snow would have thanked him for moving her, as it began to already fill in the dent she had left in its perfect little pile. But of course, just because she was limp and easy to move didn’t mean she was suddenly happy with her grumpy husband.
”Why tho you jus…you don eben wantuh have it an…you jus leeb me here an’ I jus die an you be so happy den!” she whined at him. ”Don’ come on me wen you don eben wan me ‘round an jus be mean all time.”
”Why tho you jus…you don eben wantuh have it an…you jus leeb me here an’ I jus die an you be so happy den!” she whined at him. ”Don’ come on me wen you don eben wan me ‘round an jus be mean all time.”
loving you was the most exquisite
form of self destruction
form of self destruction
