* 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑫𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻.

PERSONAL BLOGS GTFO

[beteclair]

dettlaff has moved to @douloir

THIS IS AN RP BLOG.  PERSONAL BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME IN MY PRESENCE. DO NOT REBLOG ANY OF THE CONTENT HERE. nothing here is intended for wider or fandom consumption. STAY O U T.

[beteclair]

›   @chaotiicgoods​  :  ❛  you  never  asked  if  i  wanted  a  guest .  ❜ - yennefer

❝ Forgive me, Lady Yennefer, for arriving unannounced, ❞ Dettlaff’s head remained bowed low where he stood at the threshold of the main building of the massive Corvo Bianco estate, his eyes never once meeting the intense gaze of those lilac eyes that bore down upon him, afraid that with a look alone from the sorceress, he’d be melted upon the cobblestone path where he stood.

Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the dirt below with the knowledge that Yennefer could easily eviscerate him into a puddle of nothingness upon the stone if she so wished. Being both The Beast of Beauclair and paired with the fact he’d once brought certain harm—even the prospect of death—to her mate, Dettlaff knew he’d be worthy of whatever scorn or rage Yennefer of Vengerberg chose to mete his way. These were treacherous grounds, thus he kept about a submissive air in deference to this place’s alpha. She was in charge here, and he had no intention of overstepping whatever boundaries already had been breached with his complicated and bloodied history.

The sorceress of Vengerberg was the last person Dettlaff—or anyone—wanted as a foe. He would have to choose whatever he said with careful consideration, yet speaking at length had never been his forte.

❝ I had no intention of intruding upon your grounds or interrupting your precious time, my lady, however. . . ❞ he shuffled on his feet, keeping his head dipped and eyes averted as Dettlaff attempted to appear as small as he possibly could. ❝ I’ve come to formally apologize for whatever trouble I may have brought you and your family. ❞

[beteclair]

[  @toussainttwins​ requested BANTER : Dettlaff and Rhenawedd + discussing favourite drinks ]

[beteclair]

[  @toussainttwins​ requested BANTER : Some old leaf has read "a pantry banter". I have no idea what either of scenarios could include, but may it have Natanis and Gloomyfangs in it.  ]

[beteclair]

[   ›   @toussainttwins​   ]   :   "When I was a hornless little doe I dreamed to climb a tree. The birds chirped the most beautiful stories, and I wanted those stories for me and my lambkin Nissa, unspooling before our very eyes. When I, us saw, that human children could climb a tree with a clumsy grace, I coaxed Nistana to let me stand upon her shoulders to reach out for a sturdy branch.

My curious hand touched the branch and felt moss, soft as fur, the bark as smooth and wet as a tear. I climbed up, I hugged the branch and, ah, the wonderous sights I craved, as I had never craved for nuts and berries, were so close, I thought! But then the world tilted in a swift dance, flashed bright like pearls, and I woke up upon the forest floor, my round belly the colour of dryad’s-embrace. 

My creamy lambkin tasted so bitterly of fear and stomped her hoof and cried so piteously all at once! Never, never did I climb a tree afterwards, even when a pretty dryad sang to me. Oh, I do not remember which tree dealt with me so harshly," laughs Natanis, merry and reckless, like a silver spring.

"Maybe it was such a brusque and unkind plant because it had no dryad to love it! Ah, I bet even you have met such as a little fledgling and got a bruise for half an hour out of it!"

❝ Thank you for sharing this story with me, Tanna. You were a very brave little one. And look at what a brave horned lamb you’ve become, ❞ Dettlaff dipped his head politely, a light smile tugging at each end of his lips. He could listen to Natanis prattle on about everything and nothing all day and would never grow tired of the sound of her voice. Legends spoke of men at sea lured to their deaths by the song of a siren, but he thought nothing could be as silvery and chiming as Natanis’ voice to draw him in. . . no, there simply was no comparison. Nothing could lure him away from the depth of feelings in which he held for her. His smile grew then as he admired the way she laughed and how each peal of laughter pulled at his heartstrings, how her hair seemed to have a certain glow about it in the late afternoon sun like a warm halo. How badly he wished to stoop low and kiss her then.

❝ But. . . yes, I fell many a time as a fledgling. I had my fair share of bruises. Maybe broke a leg once or twice, hmm. . . my memory is not so clear as it once was. Yet there is no other way to learn to climb a tree than by doing it over and over again, I think. Just as when one learns to fly, it is inevitable that there will be falls and stumbles. That is how one grows stronger. And learns. And then. . . with enough perseverance, the falls shall no longer happen. I think the same can be applied in many other instances in life. ❞

❝ Well . . .  I will not ask you to climb for me, however, ❞ Dettlaff’s voice and gaze both trailed off to the side where it followed along the height of a tree where dozens of apples hung loosely off of the branches. The one apple he had his sight on was only a few feet out of his impressive reach. Of course, he could easily climb the thing or gather what ripened fruits laid scattered about the ground, even turn into a giant bat and pluck one of the fruit from the tree. . . but, he also had a petite succubus to lend a helping hand. Dettlaff thought the apples just out of reach had the best taste and crunch. The ones on the ground were undoubtedly too ripe, rotten, or nibbled on by opportunistic scavengers. No good.

❝ Will you help me get that apple ? ❞ He pointed to the very one where a shaft of sunlight glinted right off of, golden and shining as if it were molded of pure gold from the white hot sun itself. ❝ I will lift you, and ask nothing more of you. ❞ Reaching out with one hand, he lifted one pinky finger towards her, the look in his eyes the picture of childish innocence. ❝ Promise. ❞

[beteclair]

[ › @toussainttwins​ ] : "'Tis all about yer ears and patience, sir. The fishing me mean," // Dettlaff and a blind old fisherman of San Sebastian

And you are beginning to wear upon my ears and patience, Dettlaff though to himself as he turned to cast a accusatory glare towards the old man who had dared intrude upon his otherwise peaceful pastime, his feet dangling over the dock where dace darted to and fro beneath the shadowless behemoths that were Dettlaff’s boots with the belief it was a tasty treat dangling above them. The smaller fish were welcome with the hope they’d attract larger fish for Dettlaff to catch. . . though anything longer than an arm seldom made its way this close to the harbor where men passed through all day, docking and unloading and cutting through the otherwise still water of the Sansetour river.

Dettlaff’s expression could be forgiven with the excuse it was simply the sun’s intrusive glare that had his features twisted into such a surly, unwelcome look. Not that any of it truly mattered to the old man, but Dettlaff had yet to notice this detail as the man shuffled closer. Dettlaff was half-tempted to simply gather his things and give up for the day to avoid conversing with him, in no mood to waste any more time than he had barely catching anything that evening. It wasn’t often anyone approached this tall, darkly brooding stranger minding his own business, and Dettlaff appeared far from friendly, the aura about him menacing enough to ward off even the friendliest of folk. Yet this man dared, the deep wrinkles of his face quirked into a friendly, warm smile that Dettlaff couldn’t help but feel himself warm up to. . .

❝ Yes, I am aware, ❞ Dettlaff murmured. I’ve been fishing longer than you’ve been alive, he wished to say but kept to himself.

Then Dettlaff felt the hairs prickle at the back of his neck realizing that with the sinking sun, his figure should have cast a long, ominous shadow over the creaky wood of the docks where it would join the old man’s. Yet it was distinctly lacking, and it should have been detail one so wizened and accustomed to noting the strange and unusual undoubtedly would have picked up on. But Dettlaff soon realized the man didn’t seem to be looking at much, his gaze cast askew and never quite meeting Dettlaff’s even as he faced him. Which, as one who loathed making direct eye contact, came as a saving grace. Yet there was no denying there was something off about the man. . .

In fact, the man didn’t seem to. . .  see anything at all, which came as a great surprise to Dettlaff the more he observed the old man and finally came to conclusion that he was blind. Odd, for he did not realize that a man could lose his sight without first losing his eyes. . . Dettlaff did not feel bad for looking at the man more closely now, staring with intent because the man would be none the wiser to Dettlaff’s curious examination.

❝ I hope you’ve not come here merely to give me unsolicited advice, ❞ Dettlaff grumbled, grateful that the old man could not see that Dettlaff’s fishing basket lacked any fish to speak of.  Usually he did well, but today nothing seemed to snag on his line no matter what he did. Perhaps it was best to simply give up while there was little sun left. . . or that this old man might even make a fool of him.

[beteclair]

[    @toussainttwins​  requested  BANTER  between Dettlaff and the bearlet Gwidon    ]

[beteclair]

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙿𝚁𝙰𝚈𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙽𝙾𝚆!

[beteclair]

Let's suppose Dettlaff comes across a djinn and the latter grants three wishes in return for their freedom. What requests the Nazairi toymaker would ask/wish for?

Honestly, I can't really see him wanting to wish for anything ? He's read enough fairytales and heard just as many stories of such powerful beings that grant 'wishes' only for them to come with a great price, usually at the detriment of the wisher, so he would approach anything like that with great caution. And honestly, he wouldn't want anything in return and definitely wouldn't keep a creature baring it from its own freedom.

If he had to make some wish, it would be something simple, like asking for supplies to aid in his work. He'd never wish for anything so grande as riches because he genuinely enjoys what he does and if it took the work out of doing what he loves then. . . what's the point ? So at the very least he'd probably just ask for a few rare pigments or stones he could put to use in his craft. At the very most, he'd ask if blue roses could grow around his workshop / his crypt in the graveyard outside Beauclair because it's nigh impossible to grow them outside Nazair and it would make him feel more at home to see them blooming where he currently occupies. Maybe, if possible, he’d like for the orphan children that linger around the dock to have an extra slice of bread or scrap of meat to fill their bellies for a good while.

[beteclair]

[ › @toussainttwins ] : "One poet sang that lover's caress is a caress of honey. What does mine taste like, Gloomyfangs?" asks the petite succubus, cocking her head to her shoulder, like a curious lamb. Yet between her curls, her pearls and her smiles there is a hunger. And no wonder; it is noon. A proper breakfast time in languid, eternally enamored city of Beauclair.

❝ My dear Natanis— ❞ crooned Dettlaff as he lazily palmed at one of Natanis’ smooth, fur-covered thighs, his lips peppering agonizingly slow kisses along her neck and jawline as the couple basked like fattened cats filled on cream in the warm noontide sun that peeked through The Dreamveil’s curtains. A light breeze wafted through, tousling the silk curtains as the shadows of trees and their leaves swayed upon the bedspread like little mosaics of light and shadow upon the lounging figures that laid beneath the sheets.

It was rare to find Dettlaff in such a slothful state, and yet the weekend bid him rest from his usual workload and he had thusly sought refuge among the pastel corridors of his beloved’s home for the usual weekend repose. An emptied platter of tarts and an assortment of other pastries sat abandoned at the nightstand, with only a few crumbs and spatters of jam left to testify there was anything there to begin with. All gobbled promptly up the night before, of course. And yet confections were not the only sort of indulgent pastime the duo sought over the ensuing night, having been lost in a heated embrace as they passed the hours enjoying the shape of one another’s bodies combined with the nightingale song of their mutual delight. . .

Sleep came easy to Dettlaff as they collapsed into the silken sheets damp with sweat, purring away like a giant cat as he awoke to Natanis’ hand combing through the thick fur of his chest, her honey-sweet voice tickling at his ear as it sent a jolt of electric shock through his spine. He shuddered and resisted the overwhelming urge to pin her to the mattress and claim her there. After all, a succubus always needed a proper appetizer for seduction and Dettlaff van der Eretein was no brute. . .

  ❝ There is no poem nor word that could ever come to properly describe what you taste of to me, my sweet. . . ❞ the pad of his thumb drew her plump lip down until resistance would give no more before he greedily claimed her lips with his own, a light nip following in quick pursuit. He shivered yet again at the sensation such a simple gesture brought to him.

❝ Sweeter than honey. More sugary than jam. Better than the finest of Est Ests one might find produced in the vineyards here. . . and there is no cream as decadent as you. My sweetest suikerwerk: you are like pomegranate seeds bursting upon my lips. . . tart, sweet, life giving. . . it is all I need. ❞ He saw her pupils grow as wide and darkened as jet black, two moons eclipsed by the ever present hunger of a succubus, a hunger that would know no end, but one he could match with a ferocious appetite of his own. He felt his own eyes grow darker in hue, as two sapphire gems glistening in the midnight void.

❝ And all I could ever want. ❞

[beteclair]

[   ›   @goldscalesandwitchertales​   ]   :   "Dettlaff, dear friend. I found half a dozen baby katakan in a cave north from here and they are aggressively adorable. They're just so cute and all alone! Can I keep them?"

❝ No— ❞ the words fall from Dettlaff’s lips as a half-suppressed snarl, leveling Yue with a smouldering glare that he hoped would effectively shut down any further inquiry. ❝ Vampires are not pets, ❞ again, his words are nearly hissed through clenched teeth, with an anger simmering just beneath the surface, prickling at the hairs on his arms that now stand on end. It is clear Yue’s seemingly ‘innocent’ question has done nothing but provoked Dettlaff’s ire. A sore subject, indeed, but perhaps also an opportunity to impart important wisdom on an ignorant party.

Dettlaff makes to gather a few supplies into a rucksack with haste, not even taking the time to cast a glance over his shoulder as he continues to speak:  ❝ They are wild beasts who belong to the wild. You cannot keep them. They cannot be tamed. ❞ 

Slinging the sack over his shoulder, Dettlaff makes for the door, only stopping to pause at the threshold, this time craning his neck to meet Yue’s gaze. ❝ Where are they ? ❞

❝ It is imperative that I find them as soon as possible. If they are without their mother it is only a matter of time before their hunger takes them from the cave and inevitably into great danger— Come now, we may speak on the way. There is no time to waste. ❞

[beteclair]

                                         𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

➤ Because Dettlaff doesn’t have a reflection and because Dettlaff often becomes so lost in his work, he will often end up with charcoal smeared all over his face from rubbing at it after a sketching session and he typically has no idea it’s even there until someone points it out. Bonus points to his mate who will also have to suffer with his Black Hands of Death when he touches them.

➤ As most artists tend to be, Dettlaff is rather untidy when it comes to his surroundings. But there is calculation in his chaos, and there is a certain degreeof organization that is known only to Dettlaff. One might find his supplies and drawings strung about the place in random tandem, and while it appears messy, Dettlaff seems to know precisely where everything is at any given time. It’s common to find broken pieces of charcoal strewn about wherever he’s been, and one might always find some in his pockets.

➤ Dettlaff unfortunately smells of wet lesser vampires from time to time, especially when he’s been outdoors for a while. It is particularly bad on washing days where he has to wrangle naughty katakan and ekimma pups who loathe bath time. It is not uncommon to find strands of lesser vampire fur clinging to his clothing.

➤ Outside his cold exterior, Dettlaff is actually a rather mischievous person when he is comfortable with someone. This side of him is most present with the equally mischievous succubus twins of Beauclair, who seem to bring out this side of him more than anyone else can manage. There is an impish, boyish mirth hidden in those cold blue eyes; perhaps a remnant of days long gone.

➤ Dettlaff can communicate with moths, and he uses them to gather information and serve as little messengers ( just as he uses crows, but moths are more inconspicuous). Whether he likes it or not, they’re drawn to him like a source of light…. or a flame. He chocks it down to his herd mentality, so they gather in great numbers around such a powerful presence.

➤ Demonstrated by his mannerisms in canon, Dettlaff’s speech is formal and eloquent, giving the impression of a learned man even though he has no background in formal schooling. Suffice to say, the man even tends to wax poetic on the occasion when he is comfortable enough speaking with someone. It is not fitting for a man filled with melancholy romance and longing ?

➤ Dettlaff becomes incredibly fidgety and anxious when his hands are not occupied with something – hence his propensity to carve or create any other form of art when he is idle. He cannot STAND sitting by and doing nothing, as it makes him unbelievably restless. When his hands are not busy, he can be seen clutching at his wrists as if calm & soothe himself.

➤ Dettlaff’s sketchbook is filled with endless sketches and studies of random people in the midst of their ordinary lives. Dettlaff finds fascination in capturing the everyday lives of people, no matter how mundane and simple these things are. He sits, quietly observing, watching, and drawing.

➤ It’s not something he does with any sort of frequency, but Dettlaff is very interested/curious in cooking & baking – he loves exploring different tastes and cuisines, especially since his palate is more sensitive than that of a human’s. Spices and plentiful seasonings are especially essential to him. His favourite thing to make are pastries, always pastries. His drive to cook was inspired by his time with Rhenawedd, in which he wanted to make a plethora of tasty treats using her favourite: Koviri Pears. He couldn’t stand just buying her simple, plain pears all the time, and wanted to spice things up for her.

➤  Dettlaff is someone who a clear communicator in a relationship: someone who is going to be upfront and honest about what they want and what they feel. Dettlaff is not someone who can easily pick up on subtle social cues, nor is he one to easily take a damn hint. Sometimes he simply needs things spelled out for him. No coyness, no playing around. Raw, brutal honesty. There is no place for lies or deception in his world.

[antigonick]

How do I love you? Oh, this way and that way. Oh, happily. Perhaps

I may elaborate by demonstration? Like this, and like this and

           no more words now

—Mary Oliver, “How Do I Love You?”, in Felicity

[beteclair]

[   ›   @toussainttwins​​   ]   :   A drabble about the touching scene that happened after Dettlaff saved Nistana's bearlet, Gwidon. If you'd be so kind.

The shrill shrieks of joy that came from the children Dettlaff helped during his lifetime as a fixer of various odds and ends simply could not compare to Nistana’s reaction as Sir Gwidon—the only just restored bearlet that had been taken into surgery beneath Dettlaff’s crafty claws—was returned to his owner’s warm embrace. Dettlaff recoiled as though he’d been struck with a fist as her own squeals threatened to shatter his eardrums. There was no time for much else before Dettlaff felt a pair of plump arms flung around his neck, dragging him down to her petite height as his face nearly crashed into her own, promptly followed by a barrage of kisses to each of his cheeks.

When she released him, Dettlaff stumbled back and barely managed to keep himself balanced on one foot like one of the many spindling tops kept within this shop. Once he regained a sense of composure, Dettlaff looked back towards Nistana with a face as red—and no doubt as delicious—as a ripe apple. He did not know what else to do but shuffle his feet around the floorboards and flare his nostrils like a flustered, huffing mule. Her ensuing giggling did nothing to absolve him of his blatant embarrassment at Nistana’s unabashed affections towards him.

But Nistana’s excitement was short lived much to Dettlaff’s relief. The poor lamb had been worn down by her hunger and the flurry of contradictory emotions that had flowed through her most of the evening whilst Dettlaff tended to her dear bearlet. He did not believe Nistana had a hateful bone in her to bring herself to truly loathe Dettlaff despite all his equally contradictory actions of late. She’d all but collapsed onto the dusty old floor into a deep sleep, with Gwidon tumbling right out of her arms. A certain sigh of trust, for would ever think to let their guard down in the presence of the Beast but she ?

Dettlaff sighed tenderly as he took a moment’s rest to drink in the sight. How like a child she had reminded him of then, one who’d spent the whole day out at play only to pass out once they’d set their foot back inside the confines of their home where they were safe and sound. His shadowless figure loomed over her for a second longer before he swept the little lamb right off the floor and into his sturdy arms. She was as a light as a feather to him, and he silently carried her across the room to lay her in his bed propped against the wall. He made certain to wrap the quilt up to her shoulders so she was snug and warm, then gingerly brushed a few loose strands of her golden locks behind one ear, the tip of his nail trailing along the curve of her cheek with unbidden affection towards her which he may not have so easily displayed had she been awake before he drew away.   

❝ Sweet dreams, little lamb, ❞ Dettlaff murmured against Nistana’s forehead as he left a gentle kiss there before he parted with her, retrieving dear Gwidon to tuck him in the crook of her elbow, positioned such that his fuzzy head was nestled against Nistana’s breast, just beneath her tender, beating heart where he would remain on a constant vigil whilst she slept through the rest of the evening.

Dettlaff smiled triumphantly at all his handiwork, took a single step back to commit the touching scene to the treasure box of his memory, then vanished into the night as mist through the window to give her a moment’s peace from the Beast she had dared to come to care for.

[beteclair]

[   ›   @sheasp​   ]   :   "Will you come into woods with me?"

She was like the forbidden viper common in human myths whispering into his ear of greater things and temptation with her honeyed words. Dettlaff had to muster every fibre of his being not to simply get up and wander off with Radana to whatever whimsy had caught her eye then because he truly was beginning to feel like some bird in a gilded cage cooped up in this toy shop. The need for fresh air to fill his lungs and having soft moss to wriggle his toes in was beginning to far outweigh the practicality of needing to work for a living. Like a human.

Dettlaff sighed heavily and sagged to one side like a wilted leaf caught in a sudden breeze, his face otherwise remaining as steady as stone carved in place. Do not show weakness, she’ll exploit it surely, because he knew he was crumbling at the edges and wished more than anything to be free of this bloody place if even for half an hour ! But he couldn’t. Duty called, he could not simply leave at whatever hour he pleased and pick back up as if nothing had happened. Such was not the way of man, loathe them as he did.  

Instead, Dettlaff shrugged, then picked his tools back up and continued weaving the string of thread through the stuffed rabbit’s mangled leg as if Redana’s question hadn’t phased him in the slightest. But once a snake caught whiff of blood. . .

❝ I cannot. I’ve work to do, ❞ he merely grumbled, not even bothering to look towards his companion to further conceal the insatiable need to be free that burned within Dettlaff’s breast.

❝ And I will not finish any sooner with you buzzing about my ear, ❞ he added with a jab.

[perishx]

Syanna. Syanna… I’ve a question I must ask you. Did you truly feign it all? That which bound us was… a ruse?

[beteclair]

[   ›   @crownedpetitebellette​   ]   :   "Master Dettlaff, you have mentioned once that your kind have a special kind of relation. A deep bond, alike a bond between siblings, but based on a shared blood. Do you have a brother or a sister yourself then? We would like to know," // from Anarietta

❝ I, yes— ❞ a blush bloomed in a dusty rose hue along Dettlaff’s cheeks in that moment of hesitation when he was caught off guard by Anarietta’s question, remembering hat in all his time at the duquessa’s side he’d never bothered to mention that Emiel Regis was his own blood brother: a vampire she’d unknowingly become acquainted with in what must have been ages ago to her.

He did not know whether it was appropriate or not to out his brother as another vampire to her, however. . . there was no use in lying or evading the topic as it was now. She’d asked him an honest question and he’d deliver an honest answer in return. What use was keeping up pretenses between two people who’d already been torn apart by a sister who had never learned to trust ? The two of them shared in their own host of secrets, an unspoken policy of honesty solidified between them through that sister’s hatred which had burned bright and fiery until it was snuffed out all too quickly before Anna had even the chance to meet her prodigal sibling again.

❝ Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff. ❞ Dettlaff confessed through the corner of his mouth, never once raising his eyes to meet Anarietta’s commanding gaze that blazed like a thousand suns. He could feel his face growing hotter beneath the scrutiny, awaiting her reaction, be it pleasant surprise or seething anger. . . he even appeared to shrink back like a wilting flower in the shade. 

❝ But it was not always that way between us, I knew him briefly during our youth but it would be centuries later we’d truly become a part of one another’s lives for the better. . . I believe it was shortly after he’d parted from this very place that Emiel met an unfortunate fate. I found him there, in the ruins of the castle that had all been decimated in a bloody battle of some kind or another. He was a formless, shapeless mass of blood and gore, silently screaming out to me for help, ❞ Dettlaff looked up this time to level his stare with Anna’s, a furrow creasing between his brows. ❝ You see, my kind cannot die an honest death like yours can. And with enough care—and blood on my own part—we can bring them back from this liminal space between life and death. ❞

❝ And thus I did just that, through much sweat and blood drained out of my every pore. . . and through this long, agonizing process: we became brothers of a sort. His blood runs through my veins, as mine does in his. ❞ Dettlaff flexed one hand as he spoke, watching as the veins beneath the translucent skin of his wrist expanded and contracted like the rivulets of a long, winding river.

❝ It is uncommon for vampires to have true, biological siblings. We are few and far between, scattered throughout the continent since the Conjunction, and the prospect of bearing a child is all the more rare and complicated for a species that technically does not die off. . . thus this is the closest possible method to replicate such a bond you humans are well acquainted with. Family forged through a bond that which I cannot even begin to describe to you, ❞ Dettlaff shook his head as he tried to conjure the proper words. ❝ Nay, I do not think any word in the human language could explain it properly. . . ❞

A long beat of silence passed between the duo before Dettlaff once more met Anarietta’s gaze, the blue of his eyes brimming with a melancholy ache that gave a glimpse into the depths of his very soul. ❝ I am sorry. . . ❞ that you could not share in a bond like ours with your own sister. That I stole her away when she was once again just within your reach.