“It’s not—” Zhou Zishu cut off his words, slapping at Wen Kexing’s graceful fingers like he would a fly. “It doesn’t hurt.” He was lying, and Wen Kexing might even know he was lying, but that didn’t matter. Zhou Zishu wanted that pain. It was a reminder that he was still alive, that his skin still sang with sensation, and that he could feel anything beyond the cloying drain of the Nails in his chest.
У меня сейчас в ванной дикая кошка с пятью дикими котятами и на кухне кот лапочка, всех нужно пристроить, а диких ещё приручить. У меня все. Магии, что ли?
P.S. Подробности веселые, но сил пересказывать нет.
Популярное
Включить тёмную тему
