Samuel
Sam laughed and rolled his eyes at Amun's whistle, certain it was more of a obligatory joke than anything else. He took the rose and gently held it between his fingertips, twirling it a few times to admire the petals; stepping back, he placed it carefully atop a book in his house. "I don't want it to get damaged. I'll put it in a vase tonight." He explained, knowing he'd keep it until it was wilted and dead; no one had given him flowers before.He blinked at the finger, a little confused by this point as to why Amun hadn't said a word. Luckily for Amun, Sam had recently been cursed in a similar fashion in a shrine. "Oh. You...can't hear me? Or you can't talk? Did you try to pray?" That was probably too many questions at once, but he was concerned. "..How long does it last?"
I drink too much coffee and I think of you often
In a city where reality has long been forgotten
