Dragoncrest Cliffs Of moon, of sea

sobeille did not know it pained ajei to kill this thing; to her killing was as natural as breathing. only, she sometimes got strange satisfaction out of it.

she continued to stroke the velveteen fur, listening as ajei painted the story of her kinnalda. it was a romantic concept to sobeille; everyone’s lives were so rich and colorful with tradition. she wanted to breathe it all in and hold it against the fierce beating of her chest —

there were many threads weaving in and out of their conversation, but sobeille focused on the one and plucked it with a hawk’s tenacity. what worries you, ajei?