Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

That heave within the atrium of his breast, sidling through the hall of his throat; the resounding declaration that rumbles through his chords  —  tonttu  —  and while Andraste does not want to retreat from this, this enamiling on the evenhour canvas of the tundrian, this daubbing at the throat with kisses incessant and riveted, she must, if she is to answer to him. And so she raises wanting and woeful halfsight to his dusked, doting guise, breathless; dark lashes crested with tears unshed;
the minikin fairylight is gossamer, gauzy; staring for what feels a life-age, as she finally reaches with rosebud nose  (in some effort)  to brush its tip against the mouth that has so procured an endearment:  "That does not sound so terrible,"
and gather herself to Melkor that she yearns, and adamant to have him remove himself from her try at tormenting that she be, Undómiel stills, with breath bellowing lethargic. Rests, with lips to dark chin, to dark mouth, to dark nose, letting the simmering ache within her settle, settle ... and wend its stifling way throughout the labyrinth of her sunknived, somnolent figure;
savoring the very restraint  —  and the strength of him that she has not had for herself so many a moon.