Emberflame Ridge Shake off the frost inside my soul

But the comfort had yet to come in the form of an older man - he bore a greyscale coat, his gaze the color of fresh apples. The color reminded her of nature, though that comparison was the obvious one. He was quite handsome, but perhaps a little too old for her taste - she liked her men young and full of spirit, something to mother instead of be mothered by.

When she turned, the butterfly had fluttered its way around her and towards the male, circling him briefly before leaving the two alone. It was a sign, she believed, and that was why she spoke; Good day, sir. on her maw was the polite and sweet smile the fae had perfected, wildflower gaze finding his own.