Northstar Vale – did it forge a love that you might have never found? (chl.)

<3

Compression;
Melkor begins then to press this malificent malady from her as if burnishing clotted ink from frail, furling parchment. With the brawn of him, his fée's thrashings beneath him have become significantly muted; his frostladen breast burdens the angular shoulders; the heavy wending of foreleg 'round ribs is then something that the seelie fortifies herself against. This is not a coupling and yet she crescents like a yew bow against him all the same  —  so that her Valitúrë might only be further galvanized into weighing her down with himself and together.

She does not have to wait long;
temple to stone; blindbride stares up at bewitcher with the dead, cloudthick thing in sunken socket; thanksgiving, thinning; soothed and strewn beneath his pressing like the faded fury of a white flag held in insistant hands. An acquiescing and primitive avowal, of blood, not bond; surrender and sáquetië ...
for better, or for worse.

Downy and diminished everything, she;
Andraste  (if eventually freed)  arcs the ache within her neck so that she might lace gentle the tip of pinked nose to his torn, blackberry cheek. Exhausted, exhaustion; murmuring numb nothings.