Dragoncrest Cliffs this maudlin moment

Another fissure wracked her muzzle, but not so much in irritation as it was in taunt, and Aure looked at him with the same, indolent innocence from her first time with him. Began to feel the same way, too; bright gaze a bit bleary, lungs already aching for a bit more air. It took everything — everything — within her to not nip at his chin, his teeth, or at the tongue he'd brandished at her. But she couldn't refrain from rasping, a statement of ardent avarice, "And you know that tongue is mine, da, dragostea?"

Aure made to press herself against him, wanting her thigh to tremble beneath the mere caress of his tail once more -- but his next words of "Something else?" made her halt. Her pink nose was just shy of nudging his own, an intimate little gesture. Regardless, she held herself against him, not quite touching, but only so; and looked up into his eyes that had something so gentle in them as his voice had been. Felt his words whisper along her scarred cheekbones as, for the first time in a very long time, she didn't feel so... repulsive, so ashamed, of what had happened to her. Even as her argent gaze shuttered, flickering into the gloaming waters of her past:

"Dennan. When... while he... 'baptized' us. He was some shepherd, one who’d lost his own religion. Rhaesuial has none, but he...told us only to drink, and," Her ivory throat strained her soft voice, feeling a phantom of blood on her tongue and dark waters in her lungs; she murmured this to Verx, too, and how Dennan’d ended up ruining his “blessed offerings.” And then she told her beloved of how the false priest would end up drowning them; only bringing them above to do it all over again. “And Vonnaruil was dying, we both were— and- the s-singing— I-I tried to stop him, I...” Her words died in her throat, eyes unfocusing a bit with regret, and she withdrew from Verx’s comfortable darkness. ”I should have been able to stop him. Ce? W-why—?“ She'd been but a child, a bairn; they couldn’t be battle scars, right?

With most and this story, Aure kept herself as elusive as the stars she so incessantly charted. But Vercingetorix wasn't most; he was agonizing, and this was more than she’d shared with—trusted with—anyone before. And she couldn't help but return to him more muted than before, but she returned all the same. God, gods, she- she couldn't— with a quivery breath, she sculpted her pale brow back into his inky jawline, like a crescent moon settling into the night. Did this, even as if it felt as if her scars were being laid anew on her cheeks—but, no, it wasn’t red, and it wasn’t blood. It was a tear or two or three, not claws, that curved down her marred façade.

She couldn't resist him as much as she knew he couldn't resist her. Wilted into him, because even when Dennan had turned her into what she believed was frightful, she’s not afraid that Vercingetorix would be scared to cradle her. Needed him to, like the moon needs the night to billow down around it. How could she be, when they wanted to come to know another so much more intimately than lovemaking. Had known it from the moment she’d felt his looming presence in that evening apothecary; and something tender within her whispered 'even before then.'