Velvet Chains in a Garden of Ghosts

The city outside is a graveyard of neon and glass, but here—in this stolen pocket of lilac haze—the air tastes like heresy. I watch the butterflies dance; they are fragile illusions I’ve conjured to drown out the grinding gears of my own existence. They flutter against my skin, cool ghosts that mock the heat radiating from him.
He doesn't need to speak for me to feel his words. His presence is a feverish pulse in my veins, an invitation to abandon every rule I was taught to live by. When he leans closer, his breath becomes a sanctuary and a cage all at once—a soft pressure against my neck that makes my heart rebel with delicious agony.
I want to melt into this moment until the lace of my bodice fuses with his skin, creating a singular entity born from desire and desperation. We are two starving souls feeding on an impossible warmth in a world that demands we stay cold and separate. Let them call it madness; let the city scream for us to return. Right now, I am not running away—I am falling into him, surrendering to the fatalistic beauty of being completely undone.

Editor: The Escape Plan