#[ this is somehow both my favorite and least favorite starer i've ever written ]

[narcissuslies--archive-blog]

LOCATION: A Mt. Olympus Hotel Room AVAILIBILITY: Closed @ofxhera

Rhysand knows for a fact that the ceiling mirror was his idea. It’s ingenious, and Victoria only installed it after their second dalliance together, so it makes sense that he was the reason for it. Granted, he can’t recall the actual moment when he suggested the idea, nor does he count of Victoria giving him credit. But obviously he’s the only one clever enough to come up with this. It never occurs to him that perhaps Victoria’s vanity might rival his, or that she might have a sidepiece that’s more attractive than him ( ha, as if ). All he knows for certain is that there no greater sight than his own reflection, with his face aglow with pleasure and his dark locks splayed magnificently across his forehead. He’s a Renaissance painting come to life, the man Michelangelo sought after in that block of marble. As the great Shawn Carter put it, If Picasso was alive, he would’ve have made her—er, made him ( no disrespect to Queen Bey ). 

Victoria was so lucky, but Rhysand knew better than to vocalize that thought. He was not wise enough to fear her like most of her other underlings did, but he was smart enough to know what not to say in her presence. ❝ When does does the fiancée get back? ❞ he murmured into the silk pillow sheets. He was admittedly worn out, but in a good way, and knew he’d be back at it again soon enough. And he would be lying if he didn’t say he loved the thrill that came with sneaking behind Luli’s back, knowing that any second they could get caught. But actually getting caught was off the table. If there was a chance she’d join them, that’d be another matter. But Rhysand doubted that’d scenario would ever occur outside of his sordid dreams. ❝ Should I be offended that I still haven’t gotten a wedding invitation? ❞ he joked, lazily stretching out his left arm in search of a lighter and a cigarette.