Northstar Vale the tones of your flesh i tempered with pandyssian chalk

the warlord of the snow and stone striken tundra listens to her tale, silent as she composes it, eyes vigilant upon her elegant, marred features; glacial gaze studying, contemplative. far from judging. she tells of how she was struck by lightening — it explains the unique scar upon her spine — and how she left her first litter. of how she struck a contract with another and how, tonight, she broke it and that she would not again mother children to a loveless joining. for that he didn't blame her.

❝you shouldn't.❞ he speaks, breaking his silence as her words come to a brief end. lotte and arturo had loved one another ...and yet their story had came to a tragic end ...an end that had unrooted the very core of arturo's sanity — or so it had been told to him. was it too much to ask to have a love like that but without the tragedy? to have a big family and create a legacy here, in this vale that will last for generations to come? he didn't think so.

❝to ask it of you is terribly cruel, especially if he knew your feelings for him.❞ it ignites something ugly in melkor. jealousy? anger. that not one but two would lead her on so unfairly. ❝you are so much more than a contract, more than a womb to fill with seed.❞ at least to me, though it goes unsaid it hangs heavy, unsaid, in the air anyway.