Neverwinter Forest on a black throne reigns upright

“Yes,” Rian said, filling the single syllable to the brim with conviction and passion and fire. Cypress stared at his cousin’s mouth, watching it form word after word, goblet after goblet of an elixir so rare and wild and golden he was afraid to listen too closely, drink too deeply, and hope too hard. He was every bit the child as his lips began to wobble and his sulphureous eyes broke with tears: “my parents don’t want anything,” he forced out wretchedly, feeling the last shreds of composure spill through his teeth like water. He tried to hang on and lifted his chin in a weak show of bravado, but in the end, emotion won out. He missed Rannoch so much and he was so grateful that Rian wasn’t angry with him and he wanted to leave so badly — piecemeal, he might have been able to bear it, but everything was being thrown at him so quickly he couldn’t figure out where to put it all — and when it all came crashing down, the first thing to break was his voice as he squeaked out fearfully, “What if they’re never proud? What if I never belong?” and burst outright into tears that coursed in dirty rivulets down his cheeks.