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"Please," Anora softly added as she glided into the room. She stood beside Dimitri and ran her hand through his short hair, evidently fond of the change.
"Or you may confuse the dog and it will come instead of me."
Her caressing hand withdrew.
The woman glanced to Drago in the corner. Its enthusiastic manner was met with a brief frown, a wordless chide for its previous disobedience. Slight perplexity blinked on her face as she glanced to the suspiciously large bone. She was not even going to inquire at this point, perhaps slowly edging into indifference.
Her sparks of energy had dwindled to embers, their vividness drawn out by the lulling rituals of preparing for bed. In an uncommon show of ease, she languidly settled on the cot arranging a pillow beneath her elbow. Dark hair splayed across her shoulders again, made downy by thorough brushing.
While her body hinted at a mellowed elegance, her eyes neatly avoided the bare patches of Dimitri's skin.
Her voice's cadence was low and persuasive as if she was lazily forming the end to a spell.
"Did you want something particular from me this evening, Dimitri, or merely my company?"
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"I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily, and yet knew that it was hard, as if wrought by elf-wrights out of steel. Or was it, maybe, a frost that had turned its sap to ice, and so it stood, bitter-sweet, still fair to see, but stricken."
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