Luneshale Pass Mine and yours

Akashingo's tunnels ran deep. Unspoken grief. Devouring envy. Lashing tongues tucked behind sewn mouths and blinded eyes. Rich, burning needs and overindulged dopamine that nightly drank from a diamond cup. She was tucked in the coil of his skins embrace, a kiss her frame conformed to and dissolved in.

Her mouth faded its smile to an innocent rest of a listening disciples.

He declared that even in a spin of loneliness, they were bound to her. But when she looked to the prince in a scarlet cloak, with chilly emerald eyes that struck through her bones, she saw more. The lust for his home, this normalcy, that regardless of how he felt, he starved for it. Longed for it. Drank from their culture, their Queen and Gods, in every form. How twisted was it, how sick, to recite binds after muttering ache. Even in pain, he wanted it. In twisted guts, he would not trade it. His passion brewed as if even loneliness was a sacred gift of his people.
That was true devotion.

She loved it.
An infatuated grin rose across her lips, her eyes traveling from his chest, lips, then eyes. Only one word, which she craved he loved as much as she did his, and she meant it,
"Yes."