Northstar Vale i miss you in the dawn & most of all, your fingerprints, everywhere (mtr.)

Time dialated; ticked so insolently, so impedimently that it seems to ebb backwards.

In its fathomless depths, Aurëwen, cradled, knows now that she has forever forged on from the girlish, glowing rosiness of moons and moons and moons — forever gone from mind, from heart, for it hadn’t ever truly been love and she no longer wished for it. Instead she wishes to remain gathered in a golem’s arms; it is here where the heiress finds not only freedom evermore but felt the impassioned order that limned hisself; that which she had been so without and now brimmed with.

And with he who was here Aurë is reminded she is promised to only her starlets ... and that no male holds dominion over her. As she endorses the Renewer's laments haven within her giving figure and endless, sanctorium soul, so too does the Undimming profess the tethering which Mahler seeks to marry her with; that which had not kept her grounded since her deliverence of her sun-and-stars.

In his arms alone she went unadrift— 
Her deliverer's croon elicts a primal plaint from betwixt her lungs and throat, made effeminate, faint by the waxen chords. She cannot help how she traces her torn, bottom lip along the corner of his own; how her fair thighs strain, shudder near stone; how she cinches him, bathes him deep within her. Then, without wings, she hews away from him with a parting nudge of pink nose to plum; and when she was breathless entire her breast and belly had cast itself upon the plinth; angular hips held only by the mighteous lock of his own.

She only prays her grayscale will not take ills to such a powerless display of devestation by her impoverishment of intimacy which now possessed her; Aurëwen mantled pink, mortified. Pressed a flushed, scarred cheek to rest her crown upon stone, moonstone eye imprisoned by timorous lashes. She pined for his crowding upon her; to remain pursual of her; to press her into this sacramental tablet with the stygian monolith of his own. Faerie, anchored, fluttering.

Now, gathering her quailing hips into the headiness beneath the golem, she draws her sex almost entirely from him; and only when she feels him glissade against her with each shuddering breath does she torturously, haltingly return him to her. Settles within the crevasse of his own with a drowsy, dreamless quiver once more; and undividedly for Mahler, she wisped a magnanimous, murmured   "I am here,"  stoppering into a muted moan. 

And she, pearlmade claws clutching at crag, argent eye wavering, now watching him from where she lay, Aure echoed the horizoning and reharbouring of her hips a second time. A third time, too, but with lips and figure trembling so thoroughly as she began to wilt — and she flushed high in her shorn cheeks again at her deprivement. How it made her so ... unsteady, so inadequate, when there was nothing more she craved than to shepherd him within her.

Now, all the silver could manage was a gentle rutting; scarce enough to do anything more than guide him into her shallows, but a singular, unending trill leaving her fluted throat all the while. The lean, long muscles shifted within a back she'd forsaken from him; begging to veiled upon, all as she shivers and shakes for him like willow's bough.