Genevieve truly was only happy when it rained—when it was dark and wet and cold and sopping misery from clouds. Genevieve truly was only happy when it was complicated, where she could find relief in things that were negative or even disgraceful for other people, where she could find comfort in the fact even the sardonic had silly things that depressed them. Mona Smith, of all things, hated rain.

The rain had stopped and the sky had begun to clear, clouds sweeping away the dreary atmosphere and leaving the land coated with thick pools of sunlight and dew. Genevieve kicked a pebble that lay in her path as she continued her trek along the street, clutching her bag against her side and humming and low tune beneath her breath.Though the sky had cleared and the bleeding light brushed along her skin, defrosting the pale snow, a light shiver still glazed her body and she found the need to continue the use of her jacket, shrugging it over her shoulders rather than on her arms as always&m

The drive back to her house was silent and the gentle purr of his car soothed her throbbing worries—suddenly, she was thankful for the close distance between the two in the car and also, his hand on her thigh.He thoughtfully parked around the corner and turned to her only after a long moment of silence, pulling the car into park and switching off his headlights in the twilight sunset of the evening. Her smaller, more skeletal hands were clasped in her lap and her milky hair had fallen over her face—vibrant melts of colours reflected against her complexion from the scene

He smiled at her response, his white teeth shining in the overhead lighting and the diminished pearly sheen the moon flooded through his opened curtains, a glow thrown over her fair skin, her lips that pleaded for his—in which he gave in and returned his lips to hers, his chest tightening at the feeling of her breath tugging along his lips, igniting a row of burning fire - burning desire.He relished the scent of her that engulfed them as their skin met, the sweet aura of dewy roses, or the air after a summer rain, something so tranquil y

Jasper's eyebrows rose as he groaned, his eyes slowly opening to meet those of Genevieve who looked back up at him with a small smile. "Daddy?" She whispered softly, watching as his hand slipped from its place on top of her head and extended flat against the mattress, as his other hand fell away from her hip before he swiped the back of his hand along his eyes. The stillness of the night still echoed through the crack of his bedroom window, along with moonlight that crept in through the thin glass—it was not hard to note that the township was still asleep, and as should the pair be.