Serpent Lake enjarocharse

akavir was a stranger and he was not; he was a shade from an unrecognized past and yet he was flesh and blood and reality beside her. he alone held their histories in his heart, while she had been wiped clean of them. touching akavir did not evoke them or give silvertongue even a bare insight into the truth of what he he carried. guarded by verdant thorns, these realities evaded the woman. intense her stare, mulling many things even as the veneer of tears began again. "to be so loved and not be able to feel why — it is a horrid pain, akavir," lips trembling. "and not knowing upon who i must turn my back is a crushing weight," voice a sob as she — sought him, sought the warmth of his arms as ear came to rest against his heartbeat. "i do not want to torment you more." to choose akashingo was to forget all he had said. to choose wren was to chase after shades long-forgotten, to forsake pharaoh for children who may not know her face. to choose him was the most fearsome path of all; "what if i forget again all you have told me," tiny muffled voice against his fur. "help me to hold it here, akavir; i cannot feel your love, though to fully realize it is my only wish in this moment." shaking; she wanted to run. from akavir, from the palace, from the fragmented thing she felt she would always be. a half life. a half love.