Silverlight Terrace charm’d magic casements

her proclamation is made with pomp and grandeur that brings a small smile to lómëvása's face; fight it though he does. he knows better than to allow himself to be so careless. careless was how he ended up tangled with the marauders; and that looms in the not-so distant past too close. far too close.

lómëvása does not draw back as she approaches; judging that there is still plenty of distance between them even as she ghosts a step, another ...and a third. his disfigured, doe-like tail gives a flick; the nervous effect lost without the length it should've had.

her next question draws with it instantaneous and sinking regret that chills lómëvása to his bone marrow. to speak of them, to draw in the icy breath and expel it into the air might be like a spell to summon them; like the cruel demons they were. zere is no story. lómëvása speaks the lie as if he is disinterested; hoping that he is convincing and that less is more in this situation.