Deepwood Weald in my world,

upon her question, the man paints a portrait of his callyope. she could imagine now, the same reverence that her father held towards her mother.

to witness love so deep, yngvi had to smile. even if there was a hint of a nastier taste at the tip of her tongue. perhaps she should've asked a different question had it not been for the glimpse into the future it provided.
ah~ she sounds like a dream. she cooed.
but that is not a name of our people.. not one i recall. a woman of a different people, perhaps? a less conservative town, then. one less hung up on tradition. or at least willing to skip around its edges.