_{———IT WAS THE DELICATE KIND OF SILENCE THAT TOLD HIM NOT TO PUT HIS GUARD DOWN. despite his desire for a respite and reprieve, buccellati did not count his blessings so soon. there were ways in which the universe, ever expanding on its ways to torment, seemed to close in on his very heat signature. the man took a bite of his carbonara and tapped a finger on the table beside abbacchio.}

     _{❝ this pasta tastes bitter. ❞}

_@winefilth