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

A jewel;
ruined lower lip snags itself beneath thin fangs. Be it a tarnished gem or otherwise  —  if this was what her beloved so believed her to be, then she must stave all that which wished for her to go against what he saw; must begin, somehow, to see the same. To his murmuring of sounds succinct, his fairylight only again reaches for him, to kiss all parts of his dark face that she might be able to. Wending herself ‘round him, into rime-limned fronds and the glistering prevalence of the Crownseat and constellations hung high, high above. “Come, my rook. Dream with me.”