Smarih

You are cordially invited to the seventy-fifth annual Beilschmidt Ball You stared at the fancy invitation in your hand, making Ludwig, the one so kind enough to deliver it personally to you and only you, almost anxious enough to dance back and forth, from foot to foot in anticipation. He prompted after your long, deafening silence, “So? Vill you come?” Almost as soon as he said it, he wanted to continue to babble on, to tell you you didn’t need to come, he didn’t care if you were there, but his voice was caught in his throat just looking at you. Ludwig Beilschmidt had the biggest crush on you, and he couldn’t