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With such a hot day, it seemed perfect for the survivors and hunters of all kinds in the manor to enjoy themselves with activities at the beach! Despite that, some decided to stay behind or stay clear from the sun.
Frederick Kreiburg, trying to stray from the blazing heat, shied away until Richard Sterling- wishing not to exclude his dear partner- formed the great idea of partaking in other sorts of entertainment which didn't involve the beach nor the water.
Just the two of them, that's all.
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He was supposed to be famous and loved– the young composer of the Kreiburg family– assumed to be gifted with talents that could go far beyond other musicians. The man, blessed with not only a passion for music but also looks, pursued the arts of love in exchange for reciprocation of such romantic emotion.
Had he known better, he wouldn’t have looked into it. Shame and disappointment had burdened his shoulders, making him less than he was known for.
The Kreiburg's were known for being adept at their compositions and refined in their attitude, but Frederick was none of those; he could barely consider himself a Kreiburg after such indecency; there was no place for him anywhere, it seemed.
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He was sure that if he were to look back on this day— with thoughts of the salty winds of beaches, the seashells which were crushed beneath them, and the feeling of rushing water washing over their feet in mind— he’d feel oh, so sentimental.
In the midst of night, a walk by the shore, just the two of them, was certain to be refreshing.
Recent bookmarks
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Memories: Something remembered from the past; a recollection.
"There may come a day where I will not remember you Mr. Kreiburg and you may not remember me."
Bookmarked by letherel
19 Jun 2024
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He kisses them, again. Palm, sides, length, tips. He has heard once, an urban legend perhaps, that a kiss to the tip of one’s fingers means loyalty. He finds it rather fitting.
Bookmarked by letherel
19 Jun 2024

