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

Within his arms, she is not Andraste; not Undómiel  —  she is only ever some frostspun fée of female creature known as a tundrian’s tonttu who cannot resist the molding of himself between her thighs and within her; who soothes and seizes herself upon him and is made mute as shorn lips part on the edge of a breathless, backthroated cry. He strains within her and some anxious, ardent thredony and the fairylight trembles and tries to return to him, tries—!

Marred muzzle tucking into the vulnerable velvet of throat; the brawn of his belly once more hauling and heaving against the ruined tapestry of her spine and the fée pleads gentled and unraveled for Melkor again, again; tongue thickening as she allows him to hold her close and suffocating; can scarce stave herself against that impending little death with him so heavy within her sex and heady within her lungs. She can only quiver entire beneath him, against him, feel him; wait for him to give her all of himself to end her and him and him her, staving, shivering—

—swearing silent that they would unmake each other well and unending, next time.