|
He spoke softly, his voice as gentle as thistledown on the wind; it rang forth regardless, reverberating throughout the shadowmere’s body as though the very earth were struck beneath her hooves: the tolling of a giant’s chime. She shivers, involuntarily; warmth spreads throughout her body at the sound of his baritone, but it’s a betraying sort of warmth, the sort that belies the fear in her breast that rises in her at the approach of his shadow. The thing she had been longing for she had also dreaded and the heat of her passion battled with the chill of despair.
Her skin twitched somewhat as he touched her, a touch she coveted. Her whole form seemed to twist in some reflex, her head turning towards him somewhat even though her eyes remained away from him, as though she subconsciously yearned to reach out and return his touch. Yet Circe dared not make such a move; some inner sense of shame prevented the shadowmere from indulging in such a welcome luxury: how dare she seek his comfort? Did she not abandon both his side and his children? Her eyes feared to look upon him; they wandered across the land of blue fire, and she vaguely noted a strange sort of billowing fog that clung to the edges of the cliff-face—it was so voluminous and clustered in itself, one could almost call it a cloud of sorts…
Circe took a shuddering breath, her breast aching to touch him in return, to burrow herself within his chest and neck, to hide away in his shadow—she did none of those things. It would be shameful indeed if she chose to lose all semblance of self-control in front of her dearest General. “Abraham…” she whispered huskily, “Reginald…” Her voice floundered somewhat; finally dull blue eyes looked upward through dark lashes, pleadingly into the face of her lover. “Are they….” She couldn’t finish her thought. It trailed to dust passed her lips, unable to complete the idea of her sons harmed or maimed in some way; her darling children scorning their mother as lost cherubs of detestation for their dam. She feared the possibility that her children might hate her for her failures—or, worse, they were brought low, struck down, and that she had been absent to protect them…
@[Archibald]
 |
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
