(no subject)
Oct. 22nd, 2004 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
The cigarette in Thaumiel's finger was quickly burning itself out. Within seconds the tobacco would be gone and the filter would melt and fill the room with its stench. Thaumiel caught it, just in time, and stabbed it into the ashtray on his desk. He had been thinking of shadows and bells, detached from the passing of time.