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My sweet fellow denizens, I have been entirely too moody of late -- sufficient enough to make an old pervert quite nostalgic. Enough so that recording my exploits in these new standard journals has become especially distasteful to me. There's a certain element of the art that is lost -- the succulent red of the ink, every sharp tip or gentle curve to a letter, the blade of the quill -- its soothing vibration against rough parchment or submissive, dimpled skin. More difficult to write upon when your canvas twitches at even the slightest prick, but it's much more entertaining.
...Odd. I have not thought of that in what feels like years.
My treasure, it is perhaps prudent we have that meeting I spoke of as soon as possible. Please inform me when you feel amenable to taking guests in your quarters.
...Odd. I have not thought of that in what feels like years.
My treasure, it is perhaps prudent we have that meeting I spoke of as soon as possible. Please inform me when you feel amenable to taking guests in your quarters.
