Moonspear ᵐᵗᵐᵖʰ envinyatar (mtr.)

Those raspberries of red must wait—

Lullaby lungs; bellowed breath;
he finds her with a kiss and the stricken is utterly unarmed; melting as porcelain does into the mold that is Mahler. Shorn lips seek within him a symphony neither wishes to name. Faerie within forge, again and again and again and
her sighing is softened to a lull against ashlar lips; a trilling tone of torment; parts only to pass the desecration of her brow to the brooding of his. It is a heavy-lashed reverence that veils ardent halfsight once more; but returns to this damning of them still. Regarding; remorseless. What must she do to suggest his entirety deserving such doting moments? Moreso in arms that were not hers, for had she not oppressed every inkling that the whole scripture of him had been writ for?

Boreal upon the bowsprit of him; she is not at all corporeal. Yet in his arms Andraste is of blood and bone, fractured and fraying — and, O! how it all aches for him so! Intolerant, illogical, imperfect; irresistible;
she is melding further into him; she is reaching; swanning waxen throat forth until her pale, rosy nose presses against the sable down of his temple. Dusts it as she once had upon their plinth from brow to despondant lashline; the parted kiss of her cut lips awaying the salt therein. Feathers the heavy, weighted muzzle beneath her chin, tendered and thoughtless as she charts the scars she finds wrought there, too. Fälscher: Mahler has woven himself into the irregular intricacies of her in manners so unknowable. Whether he would give himself or no, whether he knew it or no, she longs to beseech him to not subject himself to such torments, such turmoil. He has hoarded more faith than favor of her, abysmally—

These figments of for-ever are of him fashioning her into such whimsical vagueness, and so now there is a demurity in her touch; a delicacy upon once-lovely features. She presses ever more into him; gathering all of those precious properties,
( no matter being affrighted of what only narrative would name )
​and now remains as quiet as the musiker has become— 
—until the sculpted ivory of her spine's musculature shudders and so does she; smothers the lurching, wearied lowing from her breast into Mahler's ruff as the damage deals its workings; shoulders aquail as meager anguish frays within the constellations of tattered nerves.

Roused, for now, from repose.