Dante
At six o'clock sharp in the evening Dominic, with Eloise in tow, knocks on the door of my brand new home. It is a rather fine specimen if I do say so myself, especially with the indoor nighttime lighting. I fell in love with the Canadian gothic aesthetic when I was in university studying history, and owe the final outcome to the literature—and, between you and me, poetry—I consumed during that time. I am still waiting on a few things: two accent chairs for the living room, the dresser and bed for the guest bedroom, my outdoor patio set, and the bookshelf for the social room. I have a collection of literature that I am proud of, especially because it pisses Dominic off.
Opening the door, feeling pride, I smile big. Dominic, his eyebrow healing rather nicely from the punch that spli
