Deepwood Weald parabol & parabola

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the kindly young woman proceeded to kiss her ass with the story of a long-lost childhood friend, one who shared her name. in response, her alabaster brow knit itself together as if to convey a mocking, really? the sweetness and desperation to please was enough to make her stomach hurt, but uma was not certain of whether she wanted to maim or hug the girl.

it seemed she was made of rainbows and unicorns, unable to express the understandable sadness for more than a moment before her demeanor returned to its joyous glory. uma stood silent and expressionless right up until feyre began a short-lived tangent about the lovely forest in which they found themselves. the merry-andrews girl lifted her shoulders before rolling them down. me neither, she shared simply with a careless flick of an ear.

have you been traveling on your own for very long? grunted uma. in her heart, she wanted nothing more than to shoo feyre away, forcefully if she must; but the younger female had captured her interest by now. or, rather, for now.

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