“Don't be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.”
― Rumi
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(Quillon)
Quillon would rather hang himself with his own tie than attend the moon masquerade ball. Only a masochist would be willing to attend it happily, knowing what exactly awaited him there. Mother and more women.
The only option he had was to barge inside her territory and carry her into the sunset with him, but he was sure she wouldn't appreciate it. She would probably push the dagger that glinted in her belt the night he met her into his back.
He smiled a little at the thought of that. From what little he had known of her, she was fearless and spunky and he couldn't wait to find more. More. His whole being begged for her, but he knew he had to be patient.
This would be co
