‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ 𝖙𝐡𝐞 ‍ ‍ 𝖒𝐨͟𝐧͟𝐬͟𝐭͟𝐫͟𝐨͟𝐮͟𝐬͟。

⠀⠀ corner of mouth lifts . as if the elder has right to claim their name in this perpetual state . “ then 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 . ” hand moves sharp , striking tankard from grip . wine spreading like blood . . . dark and wasted . + ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ faint lift of brow , amusement simmering beneath the edge of exasperation . as if even her reflection dared to rival the dragon in flesh for command of the room . “ not crossed . though you flirt dangerously with it . ” + ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ lips curl , faint , but cruel . indulgent only in the sense that one might indulge a pest . every gesture of hers grates him where it ought not . irritation ﹠ enthrall in equal measure . stepping across the threshold , + ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ gaze raking over daeron ; pathetic in his awareness , more so in his state . smell alone turning his stomach . not the wine —— the waste of it . bloodline reduced to this slurring , swaying monument to weakness . + ⠀⠀