"What is life without love? Are our bodies not roaming this world as corpses without soul, as hollow casket when we are, but, without love?
Vials without substance, poetry without language, thirst without drink and deserts that crave the moon."
~
The Royal Kitchen Quarters,
The Imperial Castle,
Kingdom of Tristendyre,
Mid-morning of the first Phriday of the Second month,
XXI Year of Regency
Crescence felt an inconsolable weight of desolation encumbering her spirit. In all her life, the single companion she had seen eye to eye, had felt was in her very own place, was facing undue execution that coming eve.
Her emotions were deeper than her comprehension, in such ways that performed to her benefit. None could read from her placid face to conclude that the bereavement was inflicting unsustainable pain on her sorrowing heart.
