One night Faustus catches Helen up to him, all her white and gold softness against him, her face buried in his shoulder, her fair head fitting perfectly into the curve of his palm, and he murmurs, “It’s like I’m holding an angel in my arms.”
So I wrote a story! It’s about angels, sort of. Mostly it is about how Faustus is a moron. Title comes from Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing, by Margaret Atwood. I am stage managing a really fantastic production of this show at the moment and it’s been giving me a lot of feelings.
- missingrache likes this
- evelynatthecircus reblogged this from emilyenrose and added:
- inklesspen reblogged this from emilyenrose and added:
- chronicpnin likes this
- emilyenrose reblogged this from emilyenrose and added: