poemsofsplendor:

Jehan looked over, eyes wide.

“And here I had expected, that this would be Death in his black carriage, here to finally cart me away,” they said, leaning heavily on the car. “Alas, tis only Enjolras.”

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

            “Sorry, Death needed to use 
         that. This is the spare.” No, this 
         is Bahorel’s but he doesn’t think
         he needs to say that. Enjolras
         jerks his head, urging Jehan to 
         get in the car. He knows what to
         look out for, dilated pupils, temp,
         stale breath, he just needs them
         closer.      "It’s cold out, Jehan.“