Ah, she is a beauty; I will not deny it. Not her bright face or her radiant form, though I see how an lesser man could be glamoured. No. I have no un-natural taste for elven flesh. It is her indignation and defiance, she quivers with it. She thinks her anger un-mans me, as I stare silently at her.
Oh but far from it, my pretty little bird. You scintillate with resistance, enrapturing me.
The raucous celebration of the filth outside the tent fades from my senses. I will move her come dawn.
I feel my heart thudding against the broad cage of my chest. Such a fortunate and favoured man I am. Breaking her may be my masterpiece. It will certainly be my pleasure.
Notice: With the Laurelin server shutting down, our website will soon reflect the Meriadoc name. You can still use the usual URL, or visit us at https://meriadocarchives.org/
