Northstar Vale das gericht

She was faerie, yes;
wild and fey and she would devour everything of him. She would put her mouth on him and gorge herself, she thinks, and she would make him remember what it felt like to be inside her. She would make him ache for her lips and agonize for her throat and hold his hips for all of it; pleading for and preying upon the very vessel of Mahler; and she would give and give and give and give and give and give and give and
she looked into those eyes that she had come to hoard within her heart and writhed within his arms. She felt the fangs at her breast and it was not enough would not ever be and it was a soft and surrendering warble that left the throat he so bit — she did not wish to breathe, did not want to think amidst the mists of her veilmade mind or the darkening feverthing bleeding the edges of halfsight;
something now snarled low and sonorous in his mothertongue; the stricken, terrible and tormented, now; laved tongue and tooth into all that she could not reach of the heather ruff; galvanizing and growling in a way thay she had not ever once before.

Savage and hungering; haunting, she;
did he not truly ache for her, then, if he would not wrest her from herself and upon him? Did he not think himself up to it? Could he not? Would he not
take her?