Death Twenty-One
Lord Jerrath stared at the blank sheave for nearly a candle. His quill tapped on his desk like a drunken man attempting a jig, resulting in the nib wearing down to a nub.
"If you continue staring, my Lord, the parchment will burst into flame and you'll bore a hole in the desk," Gregorie intones from his seat.
Lord Jerrath releases the quill and pinches the bridge of his nose with a disgruntled sigh saying, "I'd rather walk in the Twelve Depths than pen this invitation."
"You can always rescind the invitation for Lady Dal-Raseay."
"And risk offending the entire House? I dare not."
"I never said the action would be without consequence, merely stating you have the option," Gregoire responds, absentmindedly thumbing through a thick volume. The Internal and External Properties of Fire Based Plants, the spine read.