Northstar Vale das gericht

Mondmädchen fair felt her heart’s blood leave her at such summons;
but the chambers still sought to gather them into arms and push a full and flushing bouquet of fright and fidgeting to waxen cheeks. For many a moment, she stood still and stock; an upheaval of myriad emotion winging every which way within shame-flushed breast; to flit to him and to see and to flee and to not!
Eventually, then;
before treading o’er that tell-tale rise, fairylight made sure  (as sure as she seemed!)  to sort her features into refinement, not restlessness; made the glistening of her cloudthick gaze easement, not elusiveness. Before she stept into the musiker’s view, she straightened; donned the mantle of Undómiel—
O! Mahler,
—and near fragmented the moment her sights found him.

No, no; he must not see the unending of her eye!
and so the neverqueen lifted the shorn chin, and addressed the General with all the grace she still prayed she held within her:  “Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo. To what do I owe ze honor of this visit, General?”  Rubied crown a heft of humility; gaze veiling for but a moment’s greeting; grounding. It was not the chill of their last meet that frosted within her own blood;
but rather, the fear for him of all that had perhaps festered within body and soul since.