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“She turns to ice in his arms. Maekallus wrenches back from her as the new piece of soul collides with him, fueling the passion, and need devouring his insides, lacing them with something sour, frosted, and heavy. He knows the sensation, knows it in an almost nostalgic way, and hates it instantly. Guilt.” — Charlie N. Holmberg
She turns to ice in his arms. Maekallus wrenches back from her as the new piece of soul collides with him, fueling the passion, and need devouring his insides, lacing them with something sour, frosted, and heavy. He knows the sensation, knows it in an almost nostalgic way, and hates it instantly. Guilt.