The moonlight from outside shined against your skin through the stained glass window, drowning you in color, “My angel,” he whispered.
Chrollo was spending some time with you, away from the troupe in an abandoned cathedral which he had looted for artifacts.
You both stood in front of the rundown altar like a couple to be married. His thumb trailed to your lips and forced them apart.
“Of all the treasures I’ve stolen, you are my favorite,” he muttered, his thumb against your tongue.
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