@gerulphus
“Ragnvald, if you want me to let my guard down, you’ll have to kill me to do it.”
A creature that’s been at war for over a thousand years is bound to be a tightly wound spring. One that’s had his kingdom burned to ash right in front of him is bound to be even worse. Ludovic was worse. He was a tightly wound spring set in a watch with no hands, tension without a set purpose or goal. And it was getting to him. Forty years wasn’t a very long time to something that could live about two thousand, so he was still processing exactly what had gone on that fateful year. It wasn’t really something one could process easily, and there weren’t very many grief counsellors who could understand the whole ‘I’m not from this realm and saw the realm I grew up in burned to the ground by a demon army’ thing.
So, he wasn’t in a very great place mentally. Or physically, judging by the fact that he had a white-knuckle grip on the mug of coffee he held in his hands. Was it anger? Stress? A combination of the two? Probably.
“Seriously. If I let it down for a second, Thraxatiel is going to find me and then I’ll have to fight him. Here. In a bookstore.”













