Tell the tales of the trail of dead
Lovers learned from slower hands
Lovers learned from slower hands
"I am," Liam said to Sohalia, nodding politely. "It's a special place; we're more than happy to welcome anyone who'd like to relocate, if you hear of anyone." But before they can discuss it further, the conversation shifts, Sohalia turning to address Zavien and Liam turning to cast his gaze out over the rest of the party. It was wild and carefree, despite the suffocating heat (although Soh's companion was helping), and he was content to stay on the sidelines.
A young, feminine voice caught his attention, and he turned back to the conversation, not wishing to be rude - only to blanche, his face draining of color as he stared at a young woman who looked very, very much like his daughter. Time seemed to stop; he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and it seemed both far too fast and far too slow all at once.
She was older, of course, but she looked exactly as he'd always imagined she would, if she'd been given the chance to grow up. She had her mother's hair, but her eyes - gods, it was like looking in a mirror. Those were his eyes looking back at him. Hope and denial flared painfully in his chest. It was her, it had to be. But how could it be, when she'd been dead for years?
If any conversation had transpired as he'd stood there, staring, he was unaware, and if he interrupted anything, he couldn't bring himself to care. "Wren ?" he uttered, his voice a strangled, tortured whisper.
A young, feminine voice caught his attention, and he turned back to the conversation, not wishing to be rude - only to blanche, his face draining of color as he stared at a young woman who looked very, very much like his daughter. Time seemed to stop; he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and it seemed both far too fast and far too slow all at once.
She was older, of course, but she looked exactly as he'd always imagined she would, if she'd been given the chance to grow up. She had her mother's hair, but her eyes - gods, it was like looking in a mirror. Those were his eyes looking back at him. Hope and denial flared painfully in his chest. It was her, it had to be. But how could it be, when she'd been dead for years?
If any conversation had transpired as he'd stood there, staring, he was unaware, and if he interrupted anything, he couldn't bring himself to care. "Wren ?" he uttered, his voice a strangled, tortured whisper.
Losing self in myself
And my demons make demands
And my demons make demands
Liam
Minor powerplay allowed without permission.
Feel free to use force/magic on Liam.
Feel free to use force/magic on Liam.
