Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

Andraste knows only that she feels an aching draw to him, as starlight is invited to that stygian and unending forever. He, the embodiment of boreal hour that is neither dark nor dawn.  Feel me  (untethered, helpless) —  with shivering sighs, the faerie is fever reforged; falling from his brow to first lave light and longing o'ertop the scarification that dons the left of his features; little carols caught within chords as she lies cobwebbed lips upon his lashes; chin, nipping; to rise from where she has been sat proves to be irresistible, necessary;
she feels faint, takes a half step away as her mouth parts, she parts, ragged and breathless wisps of this somnolence in the void that diminishes and flourishes between them; the chasms that she crawls through to have finally, finally reach him. His little endearment is theirs: meaning unknown and definition blurred, bleary; but now, she feels it against her soul, takes it as hers and holds it tender to her breast. And now—
The incense of female, of she;
tonttu warbles for the tundrian, low, private; longing ... before whirling from him, churring impling creature that she is, and flits from Cúivenen to coax him into pursuing her;
heady scent-trail to chart her return to the seclusion of her wintertime Rest.