Sleepy Fox Hollow [m] nomajoka

Anselm was ill equipped to the tsunami of emotions that came next. He saw rage spark in the widow’s gaze, but rather than chase out the shade of hurt in her eyes, it only further served to illuminate it. 

His chest fell. While he was often a dick by every account, he did not enjoy hurting others — his selfishness had only further served to sever any meaningful bond they could share. 

Next came the sag of his shoulders and the fall of his arrogantly held tail. He would have preferred her fighting — anything besides the admission of defeat and disappointment that screamed its presence from every molecule of her body. 

She glanced in a direction unknown to him. Anselm sensed rather than knew that she was preparing to leave; when she spoke it aloud, Anselm’s jaw parted in discontent. Vhat — vhy? His gaze stirred to her flank, the body he’d seemingly been totally part of seconds before. He was not stupid. He knew women paid a bloodprice for allowing men inside them.  Vhy vould you do that? Do you think I am as cruel as your god? That I vould— He paused, a crack in his voice that turned to a tremor: kick you out to the cold like some petty boy??

Anselm’s throat worked in a distressed gasp. It hurt more than he anticipated to think the selfish urges of his dick would cause children their lives. Vhy vould you risk your daughters over this? Vas it so horrible you cannot look upon me again?