Her white fox mask was pulled away by Alistair with slow delicate movements; as if he'd break her. Beneath it, was a small slightly tanned face. Beautiful, trusting, emerald eyes looked up at him. They shimmered like gems in the sunlight that poured through the glass windows around them. But they were as soft as water to Alistair.
"You believe I can fix anything," Alistair chuckled softly.
"You are a god, and the man I love," She smiled softly.
Her soft pale lips invited a kiss that came with the same delicate manner he pulled her mask off.
"It is not that easy," Alistair said. "Magic and faith can only fix so much."
"I've never said it was easy," The girl rolled her eyes with a faint pink tint to her cheeks now. "But you've just like before, you'll find a way."
"It's different from two hundred years ago," Alistair sighed. "We just had to kill the right people."
"And two hundred years ago, we did just that." The girl said as she pulled her black hood back, revealing deep scarlet hair that burned when the sunlight touched it.
Alistair smiled. This girl was not a child, but over two hundred years old. And she was his Angel of Death. She killed his enemies in the dark when he could not do so publicly. she was the only one who he could depend on without a second thought. Without her, he would have been lost. She had only appeared two years ago, as this identity. She had lived many lives over two-hundred years. A pope. A baker, a shop-girl, and much, much more. All in the name of her lover, Alistair. She was the only Angel of his.
"So what does the report say about Cyril?" Alistair said as he kissed her forehead.
"That she has real dove-like wings and she wields fire like she breathes," The girl sighed as she took the reports into her hands. "And she seems to be inflicted with the Corruption that Hades has been spreading over the northern lands."
"That does present a problem," Alistair looked down at her, more interested in her than the reports. "And the Tarrasque?"
"Our spies only report offhand accounts from the nomads who come to trade form the wastes." She grabbed the pointer that rested in its enclave in front of Alistair. She tapped its tip on the deepest part of the desert. "Around here. The reports are becoming more credible as each account seems to match. Large beast. Bigmouth with thousands of teeth. Back armed with blue spikes. Tan lizard-like skin. It didn't exactly chase humans, but each reported it from a distance. Estimated to be over a hundred stories tall if the beastaries are correct."
"That would pose a problem if it were to venture north," Alistair said as he gently pulled the report and pointer from her hands.
He set them aside before placing her on the edge of the war table. He slowly began to undress her, each inch of moved black fabric revealed scarred white skin. Neither minded it though as he kissed at each scar as if greeting old lovers.
"It's indecent to do this here," The girl gasped as his lips touched her chest. "We have a bedroom for this,"
"My castle, I will take you where I please," Alistair said as he slid her out of her top, revealing two perky small breasts. Though he loved large-chested women, he loved everything about this girl, small tits and all.
"Even in front of your council?" The girl said pointedly.
"Never," Alistair's head rose and lock his glowing eyes with hers. "I would never show you to them. You are too beautiful for their lowly eyes."
Each word was serious and true. Her naked chest was riddled with scars, from many battles she had fought in the darkest corners of this world. Each scar was a story and a pain in his heart. Even those soft breasts he groped had not been spared. But he loved every scar as he loved her body when it had been pristine.
"You flatter too much," She turned away blushing.
"Nylah," He spoke her name. "You are my moon. My ever beautiful moon that I cherish."
Amongst the room decorated with skulls of long-extinct monsters, preserved maps of important battles and tokens gifted from now-gone friends; sweet moaning danced through the room, as two immortals forgot their woes for a moment to embrace each other.
— † —
Deep primal roars that had shaken the castle since dawn broke, illuminated the frosted Night Castle in a dull grey light, had ceased for more than an hour. The old devils, converted High Elves who'd managed to make it to the Evil God Hades, stood at attention in two long lines of twenty. All of them awaited their leader, the only being who could survive Hades's rage. The large door creaked; inky long spiked fingers curled around its edge. Then a long blackleg and then a stretched figure slid out.