[she doesn't know that the world is turning just for her]

Skill: [none]

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Euphemia could not imagine that it was like to die. At times, she attempted – but the reality of it was impossible for her. Certainly, Euphemia had once awoken in place other than Dawnbreak. A grand citadel, with books and scrolls filled with knowledge unavailable here – she was, in effect, as good as dead. But she hadn’t died. She read, she consumed, and she learned until she was one day reunited with her family.

That was the difference between death, and whatever Euphemia had experienced during her translation, was that Euphemia got to return to her old life and proceed with whatever new information she had gleaned in the alternate universe. Duskbreaker, now Adonis, did not have that luxury. He likely would never see his Starwoven pack again, no matter how much he pined for it.

It was a sad truth indeed, not to have agency over one’s life. For their choices to be made for them! To live with every day knowing that your mother mourned for you, and your pack had moved on without you.

At least, for Euphemia, it had been the opposite. Instead, she had mourned her own mother, and her Dawnbreak had been just fine in her absence.

But they were here, now! They were here with the incredible vista (albeit darkened during the forever-night) and with the fresh air that invigorated their lungs and brought twinkling starlight to their eyes. They were with each other; the one who made all the others feel as if they were a 101-crash course on how to love.

She had been preparing all her life for this: to receive the epitome of beauty. The epitome of support.

The maiden breathed to steady herself, the sheer polarity of this topic threatening to overwhelm her. There was no middle ground, it seemed: in a meaningful relationship, you were either everything or you were nothing. And Adonis – he was everything.

Your mother sounds like an incredible woman, she mentioned softly, allowing his story to unfold, remembering vague tidbits here and there that had been told before. It was an unfavorable reaction to smile when he unearthed the details about his father, the ominous Gravehowl, but Euphemia could not keep it from blooming across her whole face.

All she heard was: I understand you. I, too, have a deadbeat father. I know what it is like not to receive love from the one you desire it from most.

Euphemia quickly dropped her head It’s hard to find anyone with a kind word to say about my father, either, she empathized. Maybe our dads are off somewhere, being deadbeats together. Vidarr and Kuhn had some nice things, but they were all memories now. Tiberius, unfortunately, was not around to rectify what he had broken nor create new memories with his many children.

But I respect whatever part of your father has made you… you.

She attempted to nuzzle into him while walking, by hedging her own walking path closer and closer to his, but once again this proved to be too much for her inebriated conscience to handle, and she stumbled again. The laughter that followed was bright and pearlescent.

If they both came to the end of their life with no other great achievements on their resumes, then let it be known: they had laughed. Oh, how they had laughed!

With those same stars in her eyes, she glanced at Adonis, and then partook fully in whatever cosseting and cuddling she had not been able to before. I wonder what else our story might become, the woman pondered aloud, looking up at him, around him, and all over him.

In the image of him, she could see the rest of her life unfolding. This was just the beginning; of adventures and stories they would write together and recite to their grandchildren.

Her love asked for a staff, bringing her back to their place on the mountainside. A staff? she questioned, only for clarification purposes. You enthrall me so, the silver woman cooed, grinning, as her visage swung back and forth, immediately assuming the task as one of the most important things she could do. It must be, because it was important to Adonis!

Whatever he needed to be himself, his best and most fulfilled self, she would go to the ends of the world to provide.

Only nature would not comply. The darkness, compounded with rocky terrain, made it so any potential staff lay too obscured for her to see. Euphemia squinted her eyes and pursed her lips, and then quickly leaned her nose to the earth and followed the wet-wood scent to a… tree root.

One that was still alive, and holding fast to the tierra firma with its many tiny fingers.

Euphemia couldn’t care less. She grasped whatever knots and knees lay above the ground, braced her forelegs against it, and tugged with all her might.

Adonis would have his staff, one that would still thrum with the vibrancy of life itself.

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