❀。• *₊°。 𝑁𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑎 ❀°。

✦ 𝔅𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡 𝔰í𝔡𝔥𝔢 ‹𝖋𝖆𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖞› ✦ 𝔉𝔢𝔯 𝔰í𝔡𝔥𝔢 ‹𝖋𝖆𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖗› ✦ 𝔖í𝔡𝔥𝔢 á𝔦𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔦 ‹𝖋𝖆𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌›

⋆˚࿔ a storm of ɀơỿа ⋆˚࿔

~ Nuala mustered a wan smile, but one look at the food on the tray made her swallow a lump in her throat, and she suddenly found herself fighting back a wave of nausea and a spell of dizziness. Something was clearly afflicting her.

~ from the floor. "Ah, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather, my lord. I hadn't realized my absence would— that is to say, I'm sorry to have troubled you and the others." The thought that anyone from the dream court would notice had never crossed her mind. ~

~ the fae's pale and gaunt features. Lately, she looked less like a flower in bloom and more like a wilting one. "Of course. You're right. I shall personally and profusely apologize to Lady Taramis for such discourtesy," she replied, crouching to pick up the tray with food ~

~ Nuala had learned that even within that endless blackness, the faintest glimmer could betray what his lips would never say. Yet they were such rare glimpses that she was often left wondering if she'd not imagined them. Her cheeks pinked at the reprimand, shame palpable on ~

~ miscommunication and misunderstanding. He was... not good at expressing himself, and far too often the faerie had only her instincts and what she could glean from his eyes to rely on. His eyes— they held the darkness of the space between stars, vast and fathomless, yet ~

Indeed, even on the best of days, Nuala found herself struggling to decipher the Dreamlord's emotions. Beyond the sharp angles of his alabaster visage, his stoic expression betrayed little of what stirred within his soul. Such inscrutable features left ample room for ~

/ screeeee <3

~ summon her. His presence here, therefore, could only mean that something was amiss.

~ the trouble of picking fresh flowers just for her. They were some of her favorites, too, which made the sting of her conscience all the sharper. "What brings you here?" It was rare for him to pay her a visit. Normally, if he required her services, he would simply ~

~ unlocking the door and showing her face. "... Ah, thank you, my lord. Good day to you." She didn't have the heart to tell him that she'd lost her appetite sometime yesterday. It somehow felt disrespectful, both to him as her host and to the sweet Taramis who had gone to ~

~ to restore some semblance of decorum, and the fae's limbs seemed to move of their own accord. Deprived of the glamour that would normally have concealed her pitifully dishevelled state with a mere click of her fingers, Nuala hastily made herself presentable before ~

Lost in more dreary ruminations, Nuala hadn't even left her chambers that day. The tray of freshly picked flowers remained untouched outside her door until the Dreamlord's voice finally tore her from her listless reverie. Deference and curiosity mingled with a sudden urgency ~

< of a poisonous snake coiling around the throat of its prey— The question she strove to push away, never allowing it to fully form lest it consumed her. ...𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦? 𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘦?

< her spirits further. Then the inevitable question that had been creeping through the back of her mind, always there, burrowing deeper, lurking in the shadows, biding its time, waiting to strike when she was at her most vulnerable, with the deadliness and precision >

< Nuala's stead. She thought of lady Taramis, with her motherly kindness, her sterness, her delicious tea brews and scrumptious meals. Would she ever taste her cooking again? Would she ever help her invent recipes or improve upon them? A wave of melancholy struck her, sinking >

< doing. Was he well? What of his loyal followers? She thought of Matthew, who had promised to join her on her walks through the meadow. She thought of Lucienne and the library section she had been entrusted to tend to. She must have asked someone else to pick up the task in >