Wapun Meadow learning that i’m deserving of love and the peaceful heart

astara watched her companion prowl towards his birth-giver, a hooded malevolence simmering in her gaze.

this was but a grotesque play, a hunt of the most hellish proportions — she would shuffle forth to give life to her part to play, and then like a discarded piece, slide back to shadows when it was all over.

contempt bridled her features as she watched the woman — the woman who to astara, seemed a threat to her spot in merrick’s heart. merrick’s mother was not much to look at, she surmised. raggedly, tired — yet she recognized in the woman the self-same turbulence she often saw sorrow merrick’s eyes.

astara’s gaze was hard as she lurched forward, flanking merrick in a manner both abrupt and possessive.

mine, her posture spoke.

mine, and no one else’s.