(ACT 03) Promises, promises

. . .

“What glitters may not be gold; and even wolves may smile; and fools will be led by promises to their deaths.”

—Lauren Oliver

. . .

“You have a life here,” she canted her head ever so slightly to look at him in the eye over her shoulder with a tone of what she hoped to be finality, “...and life is too short to focus on such trivial matters.”

“What…? But focusing on your mate is not a trivial matter,” Alastor frowned, “...and you're important to me.”

Proserpina almost faltered.

(Because once upon a time, those were the words that Winters Veil had always longed to hear. But Proserpina could barely count as the same person, anymore.)

...how sentimental.