perhaps satin was no expert in love either, but he was certainly an expert in it’s related arts. he’d spent years as a paid stand-in for a lover, letting men and women pretend, for a night, that he loved them. delusional patrons of the brothel on the banks of the honeywine had laved gifts, praises and promises upon him, but in the end, they had all proved empty. satin had not loved them, even when they spun promises that they would take him away from that place, and in truth, when their noble parents signed them away them to noble fiancees or they remembered their love for their wives, they realized they did not love him either.  

         it had been a strange thing for a young man who had never known such a revered feeling himself, and who doubted he ever would, now confined to the wall as he was. “i would not be so bold as to say i am either, but i am inclined to agree with you, m’lady.” he smiled wryly, pessimism lacing his tone. “i think it may just be the least simple thing in the world.”