SILENCE DOES NOT CONSTRICT YOUR SONG, MY LOVE | ASTRID Sept 27, 2021 9:05:18 GMT
Post by NOAH LEVI AVERILL on Sept 27, 2021 9:05:18 GMT
[attr="class","main1"]He'd promised himself to every detail. To twisted twine and baked apples and the sweetest scents he could conjure - an homage to his wife's homeland wrapped adoringly in crimson and rich auburn twine and ribbon. He'd untied and twisted it again and again seldom finding contentment in its formation above the wicker basket - it wasn't perfect. Great attention to detail had been disposed upon it. The visit to Iceland for Mabon a rare one since fully resuming their royal duties as Prince and Princess of Denmark - the two set to take the throne in due time. Everything had to be perfect and if it was not he simply would not be happy! He had not spent the better part of his life perfecting his every effort to fall short before his in-laws. No. It would've been easy to instruct members of staff to collect various sorts of fruits for traditional Apple Cakes or Kanelstang. It simply would not do. He would not be known as the sort to toss aside care to others simply because he could. No, he would not. He refused! The same delicacy remianed in his every action; his every endevour. In the path of fingertips that sought the warm of his wife's hold as fingers interwove at their side, the fingers that rose to woven lips full of tenderness as he pressed his lips to hers to soothe the ache fabricated by tight stitches. A curse that did nothing to her beauty but rather cursed her to a deafening silence - to a place where she could not sing, nor dance, nor laugh. To a place of suffocation he wished only to remedy. On this Mabon morning they would not hide.
"My love-" he whispered his fingertip guiding sleepy features to him as they crossed the border. The rolling of wheels against soil and the steady words of horses did little to wake her. Nor the child whom he held in his free arm who slept soundly against a pair of beating hearts. "We're here."
LAIKA OF GS!