Dragoncrest Cliffs if you keep screaming your name, it forces the assailant to acknowledge you as human.

Aure was lost in her own ravished reveries the same way that the feisripa phantasmed about his gypsy. Where Artaax's concerned gold, the skayona herself mused over obsidian; the obsidian of her cove, of her diavol. All eve and into morning -- and any "dealings" since her return -- Aure continued to sign herself with unending deviltry over into the covenant of his embrace. Even a flicker of all of these starless frenzies had her breath mute and taut; had her aching.

Her affections for Verx were only further pressed into her soul, and it wasn't simply in the physical; it was in how he would thrum to her with some enthusiasm, before drawing that lovely slip-up behind sheepish demeanor. It was in his incorrigble, uncouth quips and lewd humor. Maybe all she could do was to scrunch her nose at her stars and herbs, fervently and silently pining for the singular male she couldn't quite reach. Despite it, she still languished into repose each night, with her heart pounding out a rhythm that hummed the syllables of: drag-o-stea, drag-o-stea, drag-o-stea...

Perhaps she simply fell in love too easily, having never felt such in the harrowing years of her life so far. And, perhaps, it was rather close to that thing called love, but not quite. In the meantime, this feeling instead wavered on the precipice of her emotions in something akin to a... deep captivation. And despite it all, like the birdcatcher still, the way she was enraptured by Vercingetorix refused to diminish. And, speaking of Artaax... "Suilad, birdcatcher!" she preened, rocking into a prance with her tail feathering vivaciously behind her.