Northstar Vale the path to paradise begins in hell

Tremulous at her merest touch;
it is a havoc he wreaks within her and Undómiel must halt him; must press the spire of a shoulder into the winterspun breast to study the woad mouth of him; to wonder how his fangs would feel around her throat as he melded her ever further into the hold of him. And so simply would that happening be: to devour another here, where all and none might see; to drown beneath the earth where the waters were warm and he would be as suffocating and as smothering as that eve;
the embrace of his thighs about hers; the depraved and delectable decadence; nipping at her shoulders as frost is wont to do and it is with a gentled and quivering breath that the impling means to regain herself. If it is surely again but a pull of the season—
he knows he knows, yes  (he has always known)
—then why must he arise when-ever another held her heart?

She wonders how it perhaps would have been, had ever she loved him  —  and never he, as she has long learnt, of her. Still;
some scarce and strained and broke-heart breath, as if she might only send him from her sights; to do away with this infuriating ache and the simmering, stifling:  "What of a solider, then?"