Beautiful Disaster

He had sent the letter to Islimah telling her the wedding was off. He told her to sell the ring, and as a side note drew up a paper saying her apprenticeship was complete.

Abegail he heard about, though his heart knew the truth. She never wanted to be a concubine, and when he had pulled Sir Garradh from House Vermillion, well, she became more distant quickly. She left to visit “an old friend” and the night she left they fought, they fought terribly and angrily. It was clear that love didn’t drive her to stay with him, and whatever reason she had quickly faded as her own influence grew within House Vermillion and she didn’t need a proper elf lord keeping her as a pet lover and never-wife. It stung even worse than telling Islimah things were over. Perhaps it stung worse since it wasn’t his choice. Perhaps it was because her professed love was a lie. He knew he loved her, knew he showed it in all the wrong ways, and her leaving was probably exactly what he deserved. But it made the end no easier.

Elleiria was a challenge. He cared about her but he knew it could never be. He at least spoke to her about it. He wanted to recant, but ending it was sensible, was for the best. Beautiful disaster, he thought of her, feeling the words like fresh stitching on his heart. He didn’t want to, but he oh so wanted to. So he had.

Lord Sheigh Llyrandor sat in his tower, upon his wooden throne, and wept for that which would not be. And in his loneliness and pain, he knew joy, for that was how it always ended.

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