#candlewicked

          Eventually, a slave named Iote rose up to lead a rebellion against Dohlr, taming the wild wyverns of the wood and riding them into battle. With their rebellion occurring at the same time as Archanean... He recalled a direct passage from Ylisstol's Central Library some time ago and had thought to search for remnants of the same book in these archives. Though masterfully written, it was riddled with what Gerome would say was a fair amount of propaganda. Either way... he could not find it anywhere, and settled on an exhaustive field guide to wyverns instead. Utterly absorbed in the work, he was taken by the comparative physiology that the author had introduced into her research, speculating that while the philogenetics of human and wyvern could hardly be comparable it—

          He felt her breath tickle his skin before he could register that she had pressed her lips on his cheek. And immediately slapped a gloved hand where he could feel the warmth blossoming into full roses. The book thumped onto the floor, and she bolted like a ghost without a sheet. "Wh-wh!?" Gritting his teeth to avoid stuttering, he slammed to his feet and bit down the burning desire to grab her by the scruff of her uniform. "Mae!?" He hissed a vile of poisons, that vined and curled in the most violent of whispers. There was no ignoring the fact that there were enough eyes upon him to force a flush of frightening red— enough to be the envy of any sore candlewick.

          Gods. Gods. Gods.

          Picking up the book and leaving it neatly on the table, he soared off in the complete opposite direction. Gods. Gods. Gods. An open-roofed area? Good. "MINERVA. TO ME!"

          He was simply going to flee in a bough of foolish embarrassment until the heat died down. He'd piece his tattered pride back together later.

          Gods, he hated dares.