Noctisardor Bypass lieblichkeit

the leaves above silverstream were changing.
mahler lay with his crown pillowed upon @Wylla's flank, looking up toward the proud arch of her neck and the single goldveldt sheen of her eye. it limned him in love, and his gaze back toward her was earnest.
he did not want to serve above her;
her place was at his side;
above him, truly. she belonged there more than any other who lived within this world.
but mahler let these words pass. "you make me vant to sing poetry," he said at last, a smile capturing his features with impulsive lilac light.
the stream ran along, burbling along their backdrop with an idyllic sound, two lovers caught in the slow and sugared days of summerglow paling to autumn's chill.
"but alas," mahler said, deadpan, "i am not a very good singer."