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Pasion Pasiva

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Pasion Pasiva last won the day on August 25 2018

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About Pasion Pasiva

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    The Black Queen

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  1. So... I am making an offer on a house. I am excited and horrified. 



  2. Congratulatios!!! What an amazing achievement. <3<3<3

  3. In a perpetual state of exhaustion. 

  4. She stood outside the doors of the villa, having walked through the gardens alone after leaving her small retinue of vampyric guards beyond the walls that protected the privacy of a charming courtyard like setting. There were potted fruit trees, in keeping with the Orisian aesthetic, and neatly paved paths for strolling about for those who enjoyed examining the wide array of night flowers. She of course cut straight through, although she did take her time so as to better take in and admire the morning-glories, primroses, and star-jasmines that had come into bloom since she had last been out with Philippe. It had been nearly a week since her last visit, and nearly a month in all since she had last seen Roen after their disastrous last encounter. Although she had imagined it would be painful to return to the devils adobe after their fight, she found that her worries, fears, and heartache all melted away at the sight of her growing son. The small and juvelant child, who managed always to smile big and bright for his mother, was a most spectacular balm for the bruises and cuts that marred the Black Queen’s heart. And of course, it was for that reason that she was terribly disappointed, once she was let into the large and familiar foyer, when she was informed that the small prince was keeping his father company this particular evening. The woman who had opened the door stood by dutifully, waiting to see what Gabriela would do -- ready to take the vampyre’s coat and scarf if she decided to stay or to see her back out into the gardens if she didn’t. She was pleasant in both manner and appearance, but vacant somehow. Of course, Gabriela remembered the stuff that these manifestations were made of, and she could only assume that Roen was not feeling up to creating another being with so much an intricate background as his last servant. The memory of the butler and his awful demise caused her to avert her weighed gaze from the servant. It was best not to think about such things less her mind wander to what other sort of unkind and unsavory things the devil did to his toys. “If you could inform him that I would like to see my son,” Gabriela said, shimming her slender shoulders out of her knee length coat (leaving her standing in a simple off-white shirt, which was neatly tucked into a worn gray pair of breeches), and handing it to the woman who took it graciously and with a smile, “--perhaps he may be willing to grant me an hour or two with Philippe. I am happy to wait if they are very busy, and if not, well…” she felt the muscles in her jaw tighten and a lump of emotion form in her throat. It was thick and hard to swallow back, but she managed it, for she did not want to convey her pain to this poor creature who could in turn remark on it to the devil. It was best to keep a calm and even disposition when she visited the lion’s den. “Well, I’ll just have to come another night.” “Certainly, your Majesty. Please, make yourself comfortable in the sitting room,” a gentle curtsy, a smile, and a cheerful swing of her short brown hair followed as the servant turned and disappeared into the awful, endless halls of the mansion. Gabriela stood there and watched the woman go, feeling a terrible stab in her heart that she had not been asked to wait in Philippe’s room. Even just his toys, his bed, and the walls that housed him could have provided some semblance of relief to the mounting anxiety she felt. But there was nothing to do but sit and wait, and so with a trembling breath, she went into the sitting room to sit and wait.
  5. It was too much -- all of this. From his inexplicable understanding, patience, and affection to the sheer single-mindedness of his efforts to reestablish Orisia into some sort of respectable nation. Beyond not being able to understand it from a logical perspective, because she saw very little for Raphael to gain in putting for so much effort into the survival of such a small and insignificant country, at least by the standards of the Carmin Empire’s lucrative success, there was the matter of the heart. Emotionally and sentimentally, none of this made sense to the young vampyre who sat there, nearly breathless after the kiss that had been stolen from her lips. Hadn’t she just confessed to not having feelings for him? Surely, any self-respecting man would turn and flee from such a prospect, a wife and lover who could provide no such reciprocation of devotion, loyalty, and adoration. “You loved me once, Gabriela.” Ah, so that’s it… Gabriela thought as a frown pinched down on her brows, her eyes studying the handsome expression that peered back at her from a frame of dark facial hair. His features, all of his face, it was a marvelous sculpture. But more than just the chiseled jaw, that was somehow still quite prevalent even under the rich carpet of a beard, it was the light of hope in his eyes that softened him and made him nearly boyish in his love-struck foolishness. Hope is the last thing to die. She wondered in that moment if she should confess to having been visited by Rou, the woman he sought to replace her with once upon a time. She wondered what he would think or feel, if only he came to understand that their night of love and passion, the place from which their child was conceived, had come to pass because of the thief's heavy recommendations. Who would have ever guessed that it was Rou who talked Gabriela into submitting to the comfort that Raphael sought to bestow. Who would have ever thought that it was the bandit’s words that freed her womb from the stifling bondage that kept her from being receptive and fertile to a mate of her own species. Who could have guessed at any of these things? Certainly not Gabriela who was still trying to make sense of it all. And while there was a small part of her that hoped she could blame the bandit for it all -- lay the full fault of this tragedy, this awful reality that would pull her from the arms of the man she had always loved, she could not. Gabriela’s frown melted, and her hands settled on her stomach. Her belly was just a slight swell, nothing noticeable at all, but they both knew she was considering the unborn child growing within. You are not an awful reality, or a tragedy… This isn’t anyone’s fault, not Rou’s, not Raphael’s, not Roen’s...I am sorry I ever thought such an ugly thing. She thumbed her belly. “It was, as you said the other night, a simple love, but it was pure. That memory is enough to satisfy my needs, for now.” Those golden eyes darted back to Raphael’s face. Whatever he felt in that moment, whether it be resentment or hope, he had somehow managed to mask it. Or perhaps, she was less receptive to his emotions as she focused on their small unborn child. Whatever the case, they regarded each other as strangers might do. But the moment of unfamiliarity was short lived. He kissed her eyelids and forehead in that way he use to do back when she was a child, before he would depart on those long and terrible campaigns that left her without her protector and playmate. “I’ve never denied that our relationship is… complicated, my love. It is a puzzle with many pieces, all of us having our place, our role. This is ours, whether we like it or not. That does not mean that I must make your life difficult or unpleasant. You are my wife, the mother of my child, my queen and empress, and Orisia--and all of its people--is important to you. That makes them important to me.” There was simply nothing more to say on the matter. His heart was set on waiting it out and he had cast his gamble upon hope. The idea of trying to dissuade him was not only unkind, it was unwise considering the remarkable amount of aid he was willing to give Orisia in a most dire situation. Guilt crept along her scalp, but she decided that she had fought with him enough on the matter, perhaps it was time to simply sit back and allow Raphael to do as he desired. “Those documents I wish to have you sign are merely a placeholder until such a time when we can host a public wedding…” Gabriela, young as she was, had a remarkable ability to withhold emotion from her face. It wasn’t a skill born out of lack of concern rather out of strict necessity. But in this instance, perhaps due to her pregnancy, she simply could not keep the multitude of feelings from ripping across her face, shattering the calm facade she had managed to create. She nearly scoffed, and went white -- so much paler than she already was. “A public wedding?” “The Tethering may have satisfied our people, and your acceptance in Terrenus satisfied me and Umbra law, but I would like something grander in scale--more festive--for the citizens. Few things lift the spirit like a royal wedding.” She was shaking her head while her arms lifted off her belly and crossed in frustration under her breasts. The skin-tight material of her dress, the outfit he had selected for her, stretched across her slender form, hugging her hips from where she sat and pressing down into the valley between her legs, which had suddenly crossed as well. She looked utterly flustered, beyond perhaps any reprieve. “In one breath you complain about my spending habits and the state of finances of Orisia and in the next you reveal plans for some elaborate celebration that is not necessary or wanted.” She aptly withheld the part about fearing what Roen might think. The chasm between the two star crossed lovers was already unbearably wide, but she knew that a celebration of her union with Raphael would feel like a blatant slap in the face to the devil. She feared not for the remnants of their romance, which she knew was dead and gone, but rather the last precious thing that kept them bound -- Philippe. Surely, she didn’t have to remind the Elder that Roen had somehow come to attain full parental rights over the child, and it was his decision where the boy lived. There was more, Raphael wanted to veer the conversation away from her constant negation of their union by shifting the focus to issues he could easily blame her for but Gabriela was not having it. While he went on a tirade about those who had embezzled from the crown and her lack of a tax system, she was still stuck on his wedding plans. “I can assure you that those who have stolen from me will be brought to justice, if ever I am allowed sovereignty again and as for my decision to withhold taxation of the Orisian people… Perhaps you should become acquainted with Orisian history before you attempt to make such monumental changes. This country is not even a decade old. And while much of its wealth has been stolen, had it not been, the country would be in no risk of bankruptcy. Exports and heavy taxation on imports show that Orisia has a healthy and growing economy, at least on paper. But all of that,” she motioned at the documents he was insisting on having her sing, “--is not nearly as important as what you seek to achieve with a public display of unity between us. Our relationship is excruciatingly complicated, cousin... and I am afraid, most of Orisia, if not Valucre, are aware of the fact. A wedding now,” she paused and pressed her lips into a hard line as she searched for the right words, "it will come off as incredulous. It could make matters worse for the Orisian Throne."
  6. 'Cause I need a man, a man who's got blood on his hands And the truth on his face
  7. So I bought a new computer...and then I ran over it! Now I have do get another computer. 

    1. Show previous comments  5 more
    2. Metty


      How does that happen?

    3. Pasion Pasiva

      Pasion Pasiva

      My computer was hanging out in somebody else's computer bag. The bag was left outside the car on that part that connects the trailer (we're hauling a trailer) to the car. It was forgotten, and then when I drove away I was oddly surprised that I went over the "curb." Much to my displeasure and dismay, I later realized it was the damn computer bag that I ran over...


      Anyway, I've bought a new one. 


      I'll start posting again soon!

    4. Grand Mainframe

      Grand Mainframe

      🇭🇪🇱🇱🇴 🇼🇴🇷🇱🇩 🐛


  8. Raylon was gracious, as she knew he would be, but it was hardly enough -- hardly enough to make it worth the humiliation and discomfort. It stunned her, deeply, how palpable the distrust and hate was upon his vessel, how sharp and hurtful were the looks that lingered upon her -- a foreign power that they were all convinced had bewitched their good king. And it hurt her, much more than it ever should have. But she endured, not for the sake of her good friend or his misguided people, but for her own, who remained and stood suffering upon new and strange lands. There were still Orisian’s in what was left of Ceyana, and she owed them everything for surviving what they had. Once they were securely led to the kings private quarters upon the vessel, and once the short journey began toward the newly unfamiliar shores of Ceyana, she allowed herself to think of what was to come. Although silence had settled over them all, herself, Raylon, and Marcellus, she could still feel the tension between the two, which seemed to have just gained layer upon layer during the short walk to these private rooms as they navigated a sea of unfriendly eyes. “I should change,” she said aloud, to break the spell. She walked to a chair -- a high-backed, leather thing that looked terribly comfortable but also very distinguished. With a smile, she had the wayward thought that it fit Raylon’s personality, and she imagined him sitting there, reading a book and drinking a hot cup of tea. She even went as far as to imagine herself, reclined on the armrest, peering over him to some illustration upon a make-believe book, perhaps a rendering of a newly discovered flower, some new species straight out of the jungles of Ceyana. Or what’s left of them… whispered a voice, thick with mockery. You think there’s any coming back from this, Black Queen? You think the Queen of Orisia and the King of Illyria will sit together, and look at drawings and read descriptions of silly plants -- perhaps while your peoples go to war, aching to sooth deep wounds that will never heal. Never. A prophecy, Tenebre? The tragic truth, and nothing more your Majesty. She was unbuttoning her jacket, shimming her shoulders to roll the thick material down and off of her arms, revealing the thin black blouse beneath. Although her overcoat had been a neat and tight fit, which had nicely hugged the shape of her form, removing this layer revealed the always nearly baffling smallness of the Black Queen. She was a petite creature, a small thing with doll-like wrists, and pinched waist. “It’s too militaristic,” she went on, speaking aloud to her companions. “I don’t want your people to think that I came here looking for a fight.” Before they could say more, or turn to look away, Gabriela had undone the small, metal buttons of her blouse and was shimming out of that as well. Down fell the silk, rolling like ink across the swell of her bottom before it drifted and landed on the floor. Her naked back to them, she pulled her tightly braided hair over one shoulder, and began to undo the neat woven pattern. “I think -- it will be better if I appear softer, less aggressive. The last thing I want is to send their imaginations soaring.” Glancing over her bare shoulder, she regarded Marcellus. “You’re an elder, make sure you put to good use the manners that you have learned during your long life. Make them feel at ease around you. They do not need any more reminding of what we are or what we do to survive, do I make myself clear?” She turned then, uncaring or perhaps even unaware of her nudity or the discomfort that it might cause them. They were preparing to hopefully stifle a deadly conflict between two countries that had suddenly become neighbors, she seriously hoped that the sight of a naked woman would not unnerve them. Besides, it was hard to talk with her back turned to them. But a good portion of her hair fell over her shoulders and gave her some semblance of modesty as she began to undo her breeches. “Do you think there’s anything aboard that I might borrow? It doesn’t have to be fancy…” It didn’t take long before a gray garment was brought. She looked at it strangely, but after standing nude in the room for what felt like fifteen minutes at least, she did not complain. To her surprise, and secret delight, the material felt fantastic against her skin and seemed to adjust itself to her size so that it fit her snug and beautifully, as if it had been tailor maid for her small form. Beyond that, again to her secret amazement, the material changed colors -- turning from its gray to a solid, beautiful black that created quite a dramatic contrast against her white flesh. She stood for a moment, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her dress and nearly asked how she looked before the thought was interrupted. “Go ahead Lus. I am here with our guests.” Golden eyes sought out Marcellus, and they exchanged a knowing glance. “The setup of the broadcast you requested is almost complete. Our...guests...will be escorted along with you to the Halcyon Circle. We are attempting to keep attendance at minum but several councilmembers have demanded to be present and have asked that it be open to the public.” “That is acceptable Lus. Section off a sizable portion of the circle to allow anyone who wishes to attend.” Gabriela’s stomach began to ache a little. A deep and dark secret of hers, which she had somehow managed to keep well hidden, was her vast distaste for public speaking. “The Halcyon circle shouldn’t be too far away. We can walk there if you’d like or I can arrange transport…” “Maybe it would help if they saw me walking besides you, if we gave them a chance to adjust to the sight of it…” she offered a small shrug, her black hair falling behind her like a veil. “Whatever you think is best, my Light…” her lips curled into a teasing little smile. This was a dark, and heavy, and awful day, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to see a blush splashed across Raylon’s cheeks.
  9. “You say that as if any of us are given a choice in what we are. The only thing that any of us can decide--to any degree--is who we are.” From her perch upon the open palm of one hand, where her face rest in gentle repose, Gabriela turned her summer-set gaze upward at her cousin. She regarded him with an expression that denoted near mockery, but teetered more dangerously along annoyance. Hearing about choices, from the lips of a man who fancied himself a God, was near sickening to the younger vampyre. And while she should have learned her lesson about talking back to creatures who had no issues with silencing her with powerful blows that caused damage and pain to her anatomy, she simply could not remain silent. “All of our civilization is dead and buried. There is a handful of us left -- precious few. Among them, you are the strongest. If any among us has the gift of choice, Raphael, then certainly it is you. Please, do not speak as if you could ever fathom my perception of the world. You are grossly over powerful, you do not know -- or perhaps you do not remember -- what it is like to be robbed of choice. You choose to be what you are. You choose to inflict your will upon me. You’ve chosen to be my lord and my master, don’t ever allow yourself to be fooled or convinced that this is anything other than that…” What did anger or hurt matter now? She thought as her gaze flickered away, the gold in her eyes were dying embers of passion. She was not the woman she had once been. She didn’t have hope or will, all semblance of choice had been taken from her. From the clothing that adorned her body to the place where her beloved child lived, she had no say in any aspect of her life. But the frightening thing -- the truly terrible thing -- was that she was slowly, but surely, growing accustomed to it. This was to be her life. She felt it then -- an overwhelming sense of pity. With disgust, which she was not at all shy about hiding from him, she realized that it was his emotions that she was feeling through their blood bond. How dare he feel sorry for her, or look upon her with that fatherly gaze that denoted a sincere sense of sympathy, when he was one of the principal actors in the tragedy that had become her life. Gabriela shook her head and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, tugging on the ridiculously short hemline of her skin-tight, white dress -- as a subtle reminder that even this was the sort of humiliating thing she had to put up with. “I wish that you wouldn’t say things like that. And yet, still you do. You see now how life can be so unkind as to forsake us even the smallest things we desire.” The drumming of his glass-like fingernails against the polished surface of the desk roused her curiosity. Again she was looking at him, watching as he watched her in return. She knew that expression -- the appraising weight of his approval as he drank in the sight of her slender neck, her rounded shoulders, her full breasts, down her narrow waist, her swelling belly, and bellow. She could almost imagine him licking his chops, like some rabid creature, jagged teeth dripping with anticipation. Try as he might, she knew what he was -- a monster, a beast. “You’ve made mistakes.” Chief among them, allowing you to worm your way back into my life, she thought angrily, her eyes narrowing. “Believing that these pillars of the community would have a sense of loyalty to their country and fellow Orisians is a noble thing, but blindly believing that is wrong. Because of our people’s history with them, you victimize humans and place them--all of them--on this pedestal of virtue. And so, in the eyes of the Black Queen, they can do no wrong.” She sat in silence as he went on to poetically explain the degree of wrong that these humans had committed against the crown and against the people of Orisia, as if she somehow had not grasped the scope. And like the child that he believed her to be, she listened to his abolishment, and realized that in many ways this was much like how he spoke to her about anything and everything that she had ever done that he did not like. The main example in her mind and heart being her doomed relationship with the devil. What chance had she ever had with Roen when the whole world had been against their union. Every friend and every foe had thrown her relationship with the devil into her face, belittling her judgment, and the quality of her heart for loving such a man. But this was the first time she saw it and realized that the judgment of her abilities to self govern extended to nearly the lowest expectations possible. She could do no right -- not ever, not without him. Or so he thought. Raphael went on to talk about crime and punishment. He was very proud, she could tell, of the great compromise he had come up with that would spare the thieves lives while also imposing and showcasing the Emperor’s presence. He thought he was doing her a kindness, but she only saw treachery as he sought to remake himself in the dim reflection that the Black Queen’s reputation now cast. He would remake himself, using the same paint and brush from which she had illustrated. “My intentions were never to rule over the Summer Isles indefinitely. The humans, like all children, must learn and take their own way. If they lied and stole, it was only a matter of time before the consequences of their actions would catch up with them -- either by my hand or that of the people they governed over. Had I actually been given a chance, a real opportunity, to be queen, perhaps we would be having a very different conversation. But we’ll never know, will we?” She sank back into herself, disappearing into her shell of gloom and doom. She was pretty, as always, a stunning study in emotional turmoil. There she sat, as depression crept in and her heart began to ache. She missed him -- but he wanted nothing to do with her. “If you truly do not wish to rule and crave nothing more than a simple existence, I will give you that. I will forge your signature on that paper, impose my laws, and govern all Orisia by myself. Your life will be to stand by myself when I require it, and mother our children. If that’s what you want.” She felt it then -- kindness, compassion, and sorrow. He felt her broken heart in his own chest, as truly as if it were his own. And with distinct clarity, she realized that it was his own. The love she felt for Roen, the agony she suffered at his rejection -- how cruel was fate to force Raphael to endure it all? He who loved her as much as she loved another. All the hard anger and cold hate dissipated then. What torture must it be for him, she reflected as she looked at her bare knee, cream-white and so smooth. What torture to feel my love for another man, to feel the ache in my gut… She tilted her head into the hand that had reached out to touch her chin, which had then bloomed and opened to hold onto the side of her face. She tilted into the touch and rested against the wide palm as he crouched and sat on his haunches before her. Her eyes closed and she drifted, wishing she could spare him the pain. “I would have your voice in our people’s ears, your touch in their lives, in equal measure to my own.” “I am sorry, you know…” she whispered, opening her eyes to just thin slivers of molten gold. She was looking at him sadly, her brows pinching and her bottom lip trembling. “I am sorry that I don’t love you. I wish I did. I wish I could.”
  10. Are you still interested in our little thread? I haven't forgotten about it! I am finally feeling up to writing some adventure, if you're still game. 

    1. jaistlyn


      Yes, I am! I believe it's your turn to post 🙂 Glad to see you back!

    2. Pasion Pasiva

      Pasion Pasiva

      We'll see how I do! I am excited for this thread -- I don't think I've really written any sort of adventure type story in quite a while. 

    3. jaistlyn


      On my end, I'm looking forward to some character development on one of my favourite White Hand paladins!

  11. I am visiting Boise, ID next week -- anything I should see (other than Ty)? Anyone from around that area have any recommendations on fun things to do with two very active, very annoying, very insane little boys? 

  12. Goddamn it, Ty... That's what I thought you meant! I even asked him to clarify. He thought you meant, "go ahead, you post." I thought it meant just that, "with your blessing, I'll post." Great. Yeah, go ahead. Thanks.
  13. I wanted to interact with him! But I suppose I'll post my exit, unless Roen wants to do the honors.
  14. In his childhood -- lonesome and tragic as it was after he was abandoned by his mother -- he had found comfort in books. He had adored the carefully illustrated tales of heros and the maidens they rescued, of brave young women and stubborn young men that took arms against monstrous beasts, of fair and royal boys and girls who did not know how to behave and learned only through trials and tribulations. It was no wonder that little girls liked these stories. It was easy for them to see themselves reflected in the images of beautiful princesses, of courageous adventurers, and so on and so forth, it even made sense for little boys to style themselves after the valiant and handsome gentlemen that always did good and never succumbed to evil. But for little Lucis, it had been the pictures themselves that granted him peace and tranquility, when his troubled heart and mind could find no rest. He remembered her -- his mother. She was a blurred image in his infant’s mind, and so it was difficult to grasp the delicate qualities of her face, like the curb of her cheek, the swell of her lips, the shape of her brows. But it was never a clear picture. He only saw dark hair, long and lovely, and pale flesh, and two golden eyes that he only ever saw again when he peered into mirrors. However, he often found her in his story books as a mermaid singing to the moon, or a maiden trapped in a tower letting down her long, braided hair, or in more curious scenarios as a girl sleeping atop a hundred mattress, or a young girl lost in the woods with her brother. He made up what she looked like, and pretended to know all about her life depending on which story he read. It was the sort of thing that only a child who was unloved and abandoned could do or understand years and years later, but in this moment, the memories of that deep devotion he held for the art in his books -- it came rushing back. She was a vision, a heartbroken wretched thing that had been blessed with all the beauty in the world. Bathed in moonlight and perfumed by ice, salt, and the distant aroma of freshly bloomed flowers, Lucis felt his heart knocked sideways in his chest. It ached suddenly, how beautiful she was -- it hurt his soul how precious, lonesome, and tragic she appeared. There she stood, looking beyond the great ships that were docked and floated gently, rocking back and forth. She was peering up and out, into the darkness of night that was speckled with stars and the constantly shifting surface of a silver-black sea. “Somewhere, beyond the sea… somewhere waiting for me, my lover stands on golden sands…” He didn’t mean to sing out loud, but the words came pouring out of his mouth before he could really think about the damage he would cause by suddenly appearing in her life again. He had left her -- abandoned her for the sake of giving her a chance to live the sort of life she deserved. He was a wanted man, an enemy to the Carmine Empire, the bastard son of the Black Queen who had sought to claim a royal title that had been handed to him. But who would believe such a thing after the terrible thing that he did? He had ruined every prospect he ever had when he stopped trusting in his own ability and instead looked to murder in order to secure his position. It was unforgivable, he had come to understand and to accept, and she deserved better than anything he could ever hope to give her. And yet, the sight of her with tears brimming in her eyes -- smiling as she wiped them away, brave, courageous, and strong against the undeniable hurt that tortured her within -- he could not be a coward when she was deserving of so much more. Finally, he decided that it was not right to deny her closure, to disappear into the night as if she did not matter, as if she had never mattered. It simply wasn’t true or right. It made sense in that moment, that it was not the distant memory of his mother's image that he had longed to find in his books when he had been a child, but rather this -- a true picture of beauty, a real and unabashed expression of fearlessness in the face of insurmountable pain. She was the woman in his memories, in his dreams... She was the woman he had been looking for without ever knowing it. “Why are you crying?” he asked as he stepped forth, into the moonlight, his hood still drawn over his face, casting his features in shadow. There would be no doubt about who he was -- his voice, it was the same, and there were strands of silver slipping out and over his shoulders. “Please, I beg you -- do not tell me it is for my sake. I am not worth your tears, Princess.”
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