Christina had a weakness for aesthetics, to the point that it could be considered a vice.
Velvet and silk in dark reds and purples. And black, there was never not a good excuse for more black fabric in her life. Supple comforts in austere portraits. Lamb skin upholstery, dark red wine, the slow pooling of blood on a hardwood floor, fresh pasta, the attention of someone beautiful, the screams of someone unworthy, shadows dancing around the roar of a bonfire, splattered blood on porcelain.
And yet, here she was having formed a deep spiritual bond which look suspiciously similar to Vaulderie...
...to a cactus.
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