“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
― Anais Nin
Something was wrong. It started as a low hum in her veins as the days progressed, an acute awareness of the vibrations and inflections in Xavier’s voice whenever she heard it floating around the house. The word attraction didn’t do this feeling justice. It was a dull ache, a throbbing between her legs that Rose could only ease for so long by herself during her daily shower, sometimes two. There was a need in her that had been steadily increasing, day by day, ever since her turn. On the day she went to class, she couldn’t understand a word of what her prof
