The letter had arrived by courier, which by all accounts may as well herald the heavy words within. It was much alike when they had first met, how their words were formal, terse, yet yearning. Then he wrote with an eager pen, putting to paper words he had experienced for the first time. When she was mysterious, dangerous, and when by all accounts he was content as a paramour. But that was many years ago, different letters and a different author.
“My lord,” began the servant, a woman of fine breeding, who by all accounts would have been a handmaiden for his betrothed should she have resided with him in the Netherholde. Now she was a woman, dedicated to a foreign mistress whom she had never met. “Would you wish me to read you the letter?”
Izulde had half a heart to deny her, to leave the letter on the table, or if he was in a greater penchant of melancholy to toss it into the flames. They were connected, Azriah and he, by a link more significant than anyone could ever know. Yet in their absence, there was not even a single pull at the tether. He had wished her to come after him, yet that was not her way. Her way began with formality. “Dearest Lord Izulde Netherstar,” began the servant, speaking for his beloved, which sounded more strange than his heart could bare.
As she continued, to read the letter aloud, Izulde sank deeper into his leather chair. His thoughts had begun to drown out her words. He yearned to analyze, to put away feelings and weigh considerations. Yet there was something deeper within him that subdued reason and gave heart to emotion. The feeling was not that of love, for he knew well enough the sharp and bitter twang of Azriah’s love, but something else. He heard the words read aloud, knowing deep down there was part of him missing, that was so close he could reach it.
“If you do not attend me, I will assume you have settled in your decision … and we will part ways … though it pains me to face that reality.” There was a pause, a hanging moment in the air as the servant wishes for her lord’s response. “My Lord, shall I prepare your departure to Dalaran?” The pause continued and the silence hung like the heavy mist of the Emberlight. A silence too dark for someone to see.
Tonight, I address you as Mari’thur of Quel’thalas. You have earned this title for your tireless devotion to our proud nation and eternal commitment to protecting her borders.
I call upon you now to answer the call of our high home. I speak to you from the front lines of the Thalassian Pass, where such a force of Legion gathers as to blot out the horizon.
The Sunguard was successful in preserving Tyr’s Hand, but it came at the cost of our Argent allies. It is with great regret and seething rage that I say I knew this would come to pass. Reddings’ loyalties were plain enough in the Winter of Woe, and it was a great gamble to hope that such might have changed.
She has withdrawn from the accord, and with it our support for the Thalassian Pass is gone. We stand alone now at the gates to our homeland.
I do not often use this word, but I will now to hopefully illustrate to you the gravity of this situation. Please send troops. Rally your Blacksuns, the Bloodied Squall, your SIlverdawns and other banner houses.
I once thought that I might live to see a thousand years in this plane of existence.
I know naught now.
Signed,
Postscript: Whatever warmth my heart stands to hold is yours now and always. I love you.
This is an RP log between @felthier and I that we decided to share!
Lady Azriah Thelryn rested her hands on the balcony railing as she stood overlooking the sprawling lake behind Goldenshade Manse. Long shadows were cast beneath the trees, and the last streaks of golden light twinkled on the wind-blown waters as the sun was setting beyond the mountains. That same breeze rippled through her midnight hair, and stirred the silken skirts around her ankles. Her jewelry sparkled with the last threads of light, though her left ring-finger was notably bare. She wore something hovering between melancholy and longing on her lovely features, with those full lips turned slightly down at the corners and those chartreuse eyes gazing off into the distance. Her long ears pricked and flickered at every passing sound, though each was absent of the familiar tread of the Lord Izulde Netherstar.
It had been a long journey, one made by saddle from the misty vales of the Emberlight, to the warm spring boughs of Goldenshade. The journey could have been aided by magics of teleportation, but Izulde chose to abstain. Magic was in his blood, their blood, and despite all of this their bond had remained. It was much alike a long tether pulled taunt, where the slightest flick of emotion sent a ripple across the wire. He had felt it, felt the dour melancholy that had plagued them both. He arrived, both to welcome and quiet contemplation, where the servants wondered if this would be his last visit. By all accounts he could not rightly answer that question, but as he ascended into her solar, he found her waiting, overlooking the lake where they had spent their summer. She was lovely then, as she always was, but his eyes saw her once more, just as he had seen her the first time. “Azriah,” he called, his voice cutting through the distant silence that had been between them these many weeks.
Those elven ears caught his entrance long before he called her name. Even without the magic binding them, she would have been able to pick out his pattern of breath from a crowd, and know his tread from a stampede. Still, when he said her name, it chilled her to the bone. Her spirits soared and twisted all at once, churning into a thick morass where she could not distinguish joy from grief, or elation and anxiety. She cast a glance over her shoulder, granting him a view of that noble profile, before she turned about in full - a movement that was much a presentation of her beauty as a gesture of respect and attention. And oh, she was breathtaking. Her hair was styled in its usual method, sleek and free, but its darkness held the endless depth of the night sky, and its refraction of light the same sheen as the stars. The silk gown flowed like water over her form, shimmering in the same marine hues of the lake. Rich blues, fresh teal, and silver detailing. The colors of the House of Thelryn. She carried herself with queenly air, attention shifting to him as if he must prove his worth of her audience. "I was not certain if you would come." Those words passed quietly from her lips, half daring to hope, and half edged in hostility.
“And I was not certain I would have.” He replied, his voice chilled and reflective. Hearing her speak brought about the rise of gooseflesh over his body, but luckily enough his riding leathers hid any indication that she had cut through him. He allowed himself the luxury of looking over her form, following the hills and valleys of her figure until his eyes found her left hand bare of the precious stone he had proposed to her. All at once, whatever gallantry had risen within him sank deeper into his core, twisting with the other pains that one feels when paired with Azriah Thelryn. She, by all accounts, appeared free of him, free of his influence, but aristocratic airs meant only so much, and he could feel the twain of anxiety swell within them both. “But alas I did,” he finally continued before approaching, still out of reach, but close enough that she could see him, catch his scent. “Even now, your words ripple through my mind like a stone cast upon the lake. You wish to make amends, and as such, I wish to hear them.”
A pleasant chill crept down the length of her spine as she felt his eyes upon her. Even just a month ago, such a look might have preceded a fervent evening between the sheets. She felt that unspent heat ripple like a current between them, but it was held in abeyance by the cold air of uncertainty in standing. She raked her eyes over him from head to toe, drinking in the sight of him as a predator assesses another in its territory. Her delicate nostrils flare as his next words catch her in ill-humor. Bitterness rises to the tip of her tongue and frustration glints across her features. She did not extend this offer to be the supplicant; it was supposed to be he, beseeching her. But ... she thought better of her manner in that moment, and dipped her chin, yielding him a step toward higher ground. "I do not wish to be bereft of your presence in my life." She spoke, voice heavy with the weight of honesty and the pain it carried. "This last fortnight has not found me well." Such formal words, but for her-- she might as well have written him the sappiest of love poems for its equivalent in her usual degree of affection.
He could feel her gaze wash over him, like the lashing tide of sea. By all accounts, even in their cold stillness, he longed for the heat, just as he longed for her. “A fortnight…” he responded with a grave tone. “I had to replace several vases as I was wont to smash them. I am not one to express myself so tempestuously, but I believe you understand the sentiment how such an outburst can quell sour moods.” Izulde exhaled in a rolling sigh before looking at her once again. “I too, even in all my self-righteousness, have discovered the utter peril of a life without you. How even in my moments of pure unbridled frustration, it was all a pale comparison to the warmth you are in my life.” She was more of a flame than the pleasant feeling of sunlight, how when too close he was to be burned, yet too far he would freeze. Still, ever the Blood Mage, Izulde found allure in the flames. “But, I believe you letter made it sound as if you wish things to return to way things were, and as such I know that I cannot return myself to a state of purgatory in the stasis of our relationship.”
Azriah felt her features soften as he detailed his experience of the past two weeks. Some tiny corner of her mind scoffed at how despondent they two had become over such a short period of time, and she felt that knee-jerk instinct telling her that love was a weakness and a danger. But, that other damnable side of her yearned to say whatever he wished to hear to bid him return to her side, whatever empty promises needed to be sworn. She stepped closer as he spoke, making a movement that illustrated an inclination toward touch-- and then she froze, when he brought up that blasted purgatory. "You speak so fondly of our relationship ..." Those words came dry and cynical from the tip of her tongue, and her green eyes flashed with something bordering annoyance and hurt. Her elegant brows drew together.
It took great effort to prevent his brow from furrowing at sardonic retort she gave him, but still, he knew it was her way. Moving past her, he joined her at the railing, leaning over it and placing his elbows on the elegant bannister. “You know of what I speak, for it was the topic of our departure. While my heart has yearned for you greater than I can ever describe, my resolve on the topic has hardly changed. I wish to be with you, spend my days with you, as lover and companion, but not as a paramour, not as a consort, but your husband.” He did not speak solely for the matters of the heart, there was more to a marriage, stability he needed to ensure for his people, a legacy to uphold, and ambitions to give wind to. “But I have come to understand that such a topic is almost beyond us to discuss civilly. So, we may fight, and quarrel, and let tempers flare, but know that my heart has and always will truly love you.”
As ever, that topic of marriage wore on the raw edges of that ancient wound of hers, but as he moved, she turned in kind, orbiting with the same flawless harmony in which they danced at galas held by the Sunguard. She felt ice bloom in her chest as he reinforced his stance on that original argument and took the corner of her lower lip between her teeth. Finding it too painful to look at him as he spoke, she stared out across the lake toward the mountains in the distance. She was all too conscious of the electricity flickering and snapping between them, and she wanted to quell it with a hand on him. To release it with nails dragging across his flesh and terrible curses 'punished' with masculine aggression. It simultaneously pained her and irritated her, that she could be so at arms with him, so ready to leave, and yet wanting to return so badly. As he spoke those damning words of love, she envisioned the very possible reality where his obstinate mind took him away from her this night and hers barred their ever meeting again. Her heart wrenched in her chest and her pulse hastened through her veins. She knew that she could not, would not face that outcome, and in spite of that worst fear, that terrible paranoia, she spoke her damnation in a soft, trembling whisper-- "I love you." her hard wrought tower crumbled beneath her; her ego shuddered and retreated. At its end, she was left raw and exposed, yearning to retreat somewhere that she could pretend those words had never left her lips.
Izulde felt her words quicken in his heart and by all accounts, he had not prepared himself to hear it. ‘I love you’ his mind repeated and though it were a mere whisper, it enraptured a flame within him hot enough to be a forge. Never in their relationship had he heard her once utter it. Not even in their most tender of moments did her lips curve into the words that anyone could read from afar. Yet here, after all their turbulence she exposed herself to him and by all fibers of his being he knew how it made her so raw. Turning to face her, he took her hands into his own, running an errant finger over her knuckles and where her ring once rested. His eyes drank into the sight of her and his head began to swim. “I know what strength it took to say it, and how it may be a great many years if I ever hear it again, but know that me being here was a sign of the same.” He longed to kiss her, to take her against him and embrace her tightly in his arms. “I do not want to part from you Azriah Thelryn, not now or ever. What must we do to remedy this torrid curse?”
"Do not leave, then." She breathed her answer. His touch on her skin spread like flame along her bones, at once a delicious heat and a torching inferno too close for comfort. She felt somewhat relieved by his validation of the effort those words cost her, however, and for that she was willing to be lenient. "Stay with me," she continued. "We do not need to crack knuckles over formalities. I am willing to live and let be, if you will do the same. Liberate your vindictive heart, and I will match you for it." She pauses, flicking a tongue over her lower lip with a degree of apprehension. "But if you do not ... I do not know where to begin."
“I am sorry for how I have acted, since the start of this relationship I have treated you and I the same I might employ strategium, where risks are calculated, analyzed, and acted upon. As of such, I have treated us in a way that is not becoming of a husband.” Taking her hand, he laced his fingers into hers. “I ask that we put behind us the pain we both have wrought. Let it stay there to be forgotten.” Turning fully to face her, he ran a hand over her hip before it settled onto her waist and pulled her taut against him. “I will stay, if you will have me, for this night, and all nights.”
His apology prompted her brows to raise skyward and surprise to knock her hastily-wrought emotional barricades aside. His body against hers made her head swim and core twist. He was as much an indulgement as those too-frequent glasses of Arcwine, and she found it difficult to stay true to her point through the fog of temptation. She spoke nonetheless, giving him a long tale to mull over as the words flowed from her lips faster than they were processed by her brilliant mind. "I would see such words given life through action, but I must say that it soothes my aching core to hear you say it. That is what I have tried to draw your attention to all along; it is what I mean when I ask you to accept me for who I am. I am no conquest, no strategy to be deciphered. Despite however much of me may flow through the Void, I yet hold a corporeal form to this plane, and deep down I am but a woman with shifting wants, dreams, fears and desires. Do you love me freely without expectation, I will conquer this world at your side ... but you must, then, give me the liberty to approach this topic of marriage as I will."
“Approach it as you choose,” he replies simply, “so long as it is not a topic to be discarded. I understand your hesitation, and despite my disagreement, I do not want to force your hand. While I wish to plead the case for matrimony, it is a topic best saved for another night.” For a moment, his eyes sought after hers, peering into the depths of the world that they shared. “When I was a child, I was never lauded with songs of courtly love, or the depths that one's affection might reach for another. I knew of love, knew of its purpose, just as a knight knows their sword and an archer their bow. Love to me was a tool, and yet here I stand, reveling in my ignorance.” He paused slightly, catching his mind up to the emotion eager to escape through his lips. “I love you Azriah Thelryn, and I swear from this day, until the end of days, that I shall be loyal to you. Loyal in all ways, should you wish to do the same.”
Azriah turned over her left hand, baring the slender scar on her palm. "Of course you will, you gave me a blood oath." Finally, the first touch of humor flourished in her, alighting her features with a mischievous spark and faint smirk. "You will find that I am bound by the same," She breathed, turning over his own hand to show him the twin scar on his own palm.
Izulde brought her palm to his lips where he laid a kiss upon the scar. He was taken in with her scent for a moment and as he released her hand in his own, his eyes instinctively searched for her lips. “Then let us be bound together,” he spoke passionately. Taking a free hand her brought it to her chin, lifting her head up to face him, and he leaned forward to place a kiss upon the lips he so desired. It was a kiss of both tenderness and sweltering fervor. His whole body seemed to ignite in her touch, a feeling he hadn’t realized he had grown so hopelessly addicted to.
"I do not think there was much of a choice, in the end. We two are inexorably tied." Just as she finished speaking, he caught her in that kiss and she felt all of the rage of the past fortnight lift from her one glorious wave. She wove brutality and grace as effortlessly as breathing, punishing with bites and redeeming with tender affections. Of a near equal height, her hips molded perfectly to his, and her hands both cradled and trapped his jaw and neck between them. Her sense of ambition roared forth anew, stirred by the resurgence of the Emberlight's promise, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that being Lady of House Netherstar might not be the worst of fates.
Whatever fire that stirred within him now roared to life in a ferocious blaze. Though only parted for a fortnight, it had seemed like an eternity and it had built up a ravenous appetite. His kisses became more passionate, parting hers and chasing her tongue with his own. Pushing her against the banister, he pressed his body tightly upon hers, his hips instinctively finding hers. His hands stretched down, lifting his lover up by the waist, letting her legs freely wrap around his own. “Now then, we have weeks of time spent apart and wounds to mend. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?”
Select an alternate universe for your character and narrate their experience. How would they be different? This can be small changes in their narrative (a rogue is instead a priest, your character's parents don't die, etc.) or supplanting the character into an entirely different universe.
Great snowflakes drifted peacefully down from the night sky, and the reflection golden patio lighting danced on the swirling surface of the water in the hot tub. “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” resonated softly from an indeterminate source. The woman in the hot tub tilted back her head and let dark lashes flutter down to rest like cresting waves atop her cheeks. Her cupid’s bow lips were slightly parted, and steam rose off of her immaculate, creamy flesh. Bare breasts just barely skimmed the surface of the water. She held herself with such an air that suggested she was either a VOGUE supermodel or an Eastern-bloc gold digger.
Those cat-green eyes flickered open as she heard a rustle come from the snow-covered trees just beyond the patio railing.
“Azriah,” a male voice, rich as velvet and sweet as honey called out her name. She looked up just in time to see a handsome man with jet-black hair step out of the trees. He seemed unaffected by the weather, clad in a long wool peacoat, a dinner suit, and shiny leather shoes. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” He continued, and his eyes roved over her from head to toe.
“Izulde,” She purred, in a thick Russian accent. “I have not seen you since you left after graduation.”
He chuckled, rich and resonant, and hopped the railing with no issue despite the technicalities raised to question regarding that expensive tailoring. “What matters, my darling, is that I am here now.”
“Come in,” Azriah growled, and jutted her chin toward a vacant spot in the hot tub.
The expensive pea-coat whooshed to the ground as Izulde shrugged it off, and slipped into the hot tub heedless of his clothing. He smoothly stretched out an arm around his nude companion, and she sidled up to him with bedroom eyes.
“My nephew bought this mountain for his non-profit organization years ago,” He murmured. “As you undoubtedly know, the skiing is wonderful... But they are running out of money to operate, and the government will not subsidize them. Have you ever considered, darling, how lucrative this place could be if it was used for more than college parties and worthless ski lessons?”
“Mmm,” Azriah nuzzled his neck, seemingly undisturbed by his soaking wet clothing. “Let’s buy them out.” She arched a dark brow, and raised her vibrant eyes to him.
Izulde stopped himself in whatever thought was on his tongue, then tilted his head to regard her with a mix of surprise and devilish interest. “Brilliant, my dear, absolutely brilliant.”
Then, she grabbed him by the tie and pulled him into a wanton kiss. She lowered her head beneath the surface of the water, and the scene fades to black just as Izulde tilts his head back and lets out a luxurious groan.
I hope this letter finds you well rested after your expedition to the Broken Isles. From what I have gathered you’ve begun the process of returning to your office within the Dawnspire. No doubt you have already heard what my nephew wishes to plan and we have already begun negotiations of financing. I will spare you the details, but home and prestige have remained intact and the young Archon is free to conduct warfare as he chooses.
Though our last meeting has been months apart, I will attempt my best to give you an update of what has kept me so preoccupied. The first snows have begun to set within the Emberlight and Lady Idrya has seen to the closure of the Blacksun Gate. The eastern villages of Heartsong and Leabel have both begun to empty as they do each year and the populations hide away into the mountainous Blacksun Citadel until first thaw. I do wish that one year you will permit Aeriana to winter here in the Netherholde, she will not find a more majestic view in all of Quel’Thalas than looking over the Whispwinter Mountains.
Some politicking has kept me busy as of late. I was given the privilege, if one could call it such, to attend a masked affair last weekend in City. I believe I told you of the ball some weeks back and your silence on the subject of our ball only makes me suppose your curiosity is too great for words. I did not wish you to feel the need to attend so I made adequate excuses for your absence, speaking praises on your zeal and love for country. There was one Lady Swallowsong, who dared to treat me some newly mourning widow, whose wife’s departure from his life in society might as well been the signal for an opportunity to win the graces of the Emberlight, or my fortune. She was pretty enough, blessed in both amiable assets but obviously the victim of poor tutelage at a young age. I took pity on her for there is no honor in disliking someone whose brain is so different than your own. Luckily enough the party was well attended and my arm was freed from her clutch.
You know how I adore masked affairs, there is some much allure and mystery, and while others choose to believe their mask might hide who they are, my agents worked tirelessly for me to memorize attires, colors, and voices, even those who wished to dye their hair to give secrecy at who they are behind the mask. Oh my love, we would have shared such a banter of whispers and I could have felt your hunting gaze even from afar.
Lord Flamewood attempted to lecture me the importance of my duty in the House of Nobles, but I reminded him that the woman of which he has carried on a torrid affair was being necked by some besaron from Quel’Danas. He gave me a huff and carried himself away, swearing the whip the both of them.
There was another Lady Sol’thoel, who by all accounts is a woman deserving of praise, who drank too much and danced to freely. Her husband, some fifth son who inherited after the fall, was nothing to note, despite his unfortunate voice and even worse ability to carry a conversation. One could tell that it was not he who would free his lady wife from her bodice later that eve.
In the gardens, outside those lovers who thought to slip away from the dance unnoticed were interrupted by two gallant errants eager to win their renown by a display of swordsmanship. If I would not have sworn to be on my best behavior, perhaps I would have given them a show that you would have heard about prior to my letter, but I was content to drink my wine and critique their form. Some bravo from the Evergrove wished to outstrip a city knight of his honor and the two quarreled for the better part of an hour before the guardsmen pulled them away. No doubt their great strut of feathers had earned someone’s affection to lick their wounds.
I did my fair share of dancing, eager to remind my world that I both adept with my footwork as I am with my pen. My partners were gracious enough, if not too eager for the embrace and to slow to transition from my arms. Towards the end, I met with an agent of mine who I had come to see in the first place. There is a treatise about that I need to discuss with you for great length and am in need of your skills in a particular area that I dread to say outstrips my own. A quarter till two I summoned my carriage to depart alone, to the woe of many.
I am reminded at last of how cold the mountains here are in the winter. Even behind stone walls and paned glass, there is a chill in the emptiness of my bed. I know your Archon will soon declare war, but I believe you have a free night to spare before you are spirited away once again to those forsaken isles in the sea. Should you come, I believe you will find yourself well delighted.
Entry 05. What are the most meaningful relationships in your character’s life? Who, or what, are they with, and how does your character show it?
Five years of glorious sex, soul-baring conversations, endless gifts, fights to rival the Nether's worst tempests, a child, a marriage, and a blood oath. Five years that felt impossibly long even to a near-immortal soul. Five years, and Lady Azriah Thelryn still has not yet declared "I love you" to Lord Izulde Netherstar.
Not once.
Years ago she let him see that corner of her thoughts that beheld those words and felt nothing but revulsion. Love is a weakness, she had said. The surest way to grant another unending power over you.
Those scars she wore from Hadrian Illythien were old and deep. Never again, she promised herself. Promised herself, promised herself, promised herself, until her heart was as smooth and opaque as water-sculpted stone.
The sea whittled away the stone, abrasive and destructive. The mist-heavy mountains gave her clean air to breathe and space to heal, but she could never ensure that the surface would be as smooth and immaculate as it had been before the sea left her choking and gasping.
Lady Thelryn is a woman of her word and 'Never Again' was the only promise she could not keep. She may never damn herself by voicing those three words to her betrothed - or anyone else, but she leaves the meaning written plainly on her face when she sees him following a long absence and in her actions when she protects him from his foes and advises him on his pursuits. When it is he who she returns to time, time and time again, when she has lived by the course of the wind for so many centuries.
Entry 01. Describe a time when your character felt it was kinder to lie to someone they cared about than to reveal a painful or upsetting truth.
"How I see you in her, darling." Those words slid like velvet from Lady Azriah's carmine lips.
The matriarch of the Goldenshade grounds they dwelled upon shifted her eyes from her cackling, shrieking daughter to regard Lord Izulde Netherstar, where he sat poised like a mountain lion atop the chaise with one of his favorite tomes. His chartreuse eyes snapped up from the ancient pages to meet the similarly vibrant gaze of his beloved, and he flicked a dark brow upward. "Does she?" He prompted tentatively.
"Oh, yes, indeed." Azriah assured him, though her attention was drawn back to those onyx curls whipping about the two year old as she ran, and the adventurous flame bright in her teal eyes. Her mind's eye drifted toward the memory of a certain Captain at the helm of his ship, dark curls rustling in the wind. "You see how she has your sense of entitlement," She said with a smirk, and waved a moon-white hand in the direction of Aeriana as she gloated over the toy she stole from her playmate. In short order, a great wail rose up from the other child, hastiy quelled by a well-placed soothing spell.
Izulde trailed his gaze along the direction of the gesture and bit back the ghost of a smile. He rolled his eyes. "Aeriana, does that belong to you?" He questioned with a pointed look at the horse figurine in her tiny hands. "Yes," She lied with a devilish grin on her face. "No," She teased.
Azriah knew someone who liked to take things that did not belong to him, and he was not the lordling at her side. She pushed the thought of the Captain away as she turned to regard Izulde, leaving the task of playing bad cop entirely up to him.
"Then you know it is wrong to steal." He continued in that mild tone. "We do not take, we earn. Perhaps Avela will share her toy with youif you earn it by asking for it nicely." His voice caught an edge that sufficed to sort the toddler out. She returned the toy in short order with something of a grumble and found something else to do. At last, Izulde shifted his attention back to Azriah only to find those lovely features deep in contemplation.
Regardless of whose firebrand blood Aeriana possessed, Azriah decided, Izulde had earned his place as her father.
Telchis? No, he’s very loyal to the person he’s with. In the past perhaps but with all the changes he’s been through, he doesn’t particularly desire to be in that type of situation.
Izulde and Azriah have an “open” relationship. While they are not explicitly polyamorous, they both know there are benefits for having paramours. They have rules of course. Their lovers will always be seen underneath each other. Their lovers must never come between Azriah and Izulde’s relationship. They tell each other about who they take to bed and the circumstances behind it. Finally their loves cannot be involved in the life of their daughter.
