Silverlight Terrace i won't fight the fire, i feel the rain fall down

Their actions mirrored one another, a delicate dance he liked to think they reserved for each other. Her commentary did not come without barbs beforehand, yet he would not have wanted it any other way. It was that icy nature that made her so distinctly her, a sign that above all she guarded her dignity regardless of company. But Dirge did not question whether or not she would betray such a thing, not in the way she did him. His gaze found her own as he settled in, eyes alight in her company.

"Is that a note of jealousy I hear?" he asked. Try as he might to ignore it, the veiled implication exposed her concern, and he twisted it to his liking. "Think I would be too busy fostering ambition not to seek you out? I'm touched that you worry whether I would douse and smother the torch I carry for you." It was derisive to say, but the teasing smile that bloomed in place of all his knavish inclinations was genuine.

"It has troubled me not to find you roaming these stony hills, however. Contrary to popular belief, I do care for you. I may have my company to keep, but I intend to keep you too." He punctuated it by being bold then and raked a long tooth against her spine. She had always played the role of being possessive, letting actions speak louder than words. The passage of time had changed things for them both in its subtle ways—he had missed her, nonetheless.