Oh, how does the Goddess look upon the frame of Aphrodite as she stands before her with eyes that burn and a jaw that tightens. A solid contour of perfection, molded by corruption’s hand, only to be sanctified in the aura of purity that The Illusive Woman offers with such a giving hand.
And here Miranda’s grip wavers with the brush of lips against her knuckles. Buckled knees and a silent gasp from her lips as collapses onto her lap
How helplessly devoted.
Her only only words are that of adoration, such empty doting that The Illusive Woman silences with a finger to those lips of hers. Her reply is bold, demanding. Only meant to encourage.
“Show me.”
Show she does. With kisses against her neck, fingers that tangle in faded locks of silver that Miranda knew had been blonde, once upon a time.
She wears grey so well.
Nary do the words of love ever escape their lips. How foolish would they be should they need to utter their words of servitude to one another -
