#lorilin

Little was afforded in the way of sleep. If not by Lorilin’s hand, than by his own insatiable (and recently discovered) lust for life. Their union had been a slow and deliberate process: one that had started off as a general disliking for the other’s views that slowly blossomed into a companionship over time, fueled by promises that grew to truth far more than Lord Darkwood could have ever imagined.

Now here he was, nearly half a difficult year late;  a pipe dream he had called her. Yet, here she was: asleep soundly under the hook of his arm, fingers splayed across his stomach as she slept her naked frame astride his.

Within half a day, another raven returned to the house in Gilneas. This time the note delivered is longer and its handwriting bolder, as if more pressure had been applied. 

Lorilin. I know you received my first letter, and now my messenger knows your face. Why do you not come? Tank is angry with me. Return promptly.

X.D.