It was a very beautiful morning. The kind of morning poets would die for. The birds outside were singing sweet little songs. The trees outside danced in the soft wind, their leaves glistening with dew. Even the sunlight crept into the room in a gentle way, painting the bed in soft gold. It was a morning made for love, for peace, for warm kisses and whispered promises.
Vivienne opened her eyes slowly. The first thing she saw was André. He was lying on his side, his head tilted slightly, his long lashes resting against his pale cheeks. His dark hair was a mess but somehow made him look even more perfect. His lips were parted just a little, his breathing so light that she could barely hear it. His whole face looked calm, like he was carved by some cruel god who wanted beauty wasted on madness.
