Shadow Mountain i had walked my entire life as a dead man

lestan the earnest. lestan the unwise. winter spoke with the elegant conviction which the mayfair had come to associate with him always. where then such strength of character for himself? where was then his vestige of power?
he might have spoken then, asked another question of these rhythms by which his perfectly coiffed companion made his life — but the inquiry stilled him. a thousand flashing things danced in a single blink and then another. "i did," lestan exhaled.
the burning of golden feathers was all around him!
his face twisted then in a manner he had held back until now; he turned his stare into the blowing snow. "it is not d-difficult to love someone so d-devoted. it is hard to know you will always be secondary."
a soft smile touched with pain floated now, a self-conscious offering meant to bemuse, his eyes moving to the rapturous and gravid moon which hung above them.