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Y’llarith and Ashafael’s tension comes to the boiling point, and Temperance decides they need a break -- from both of them.

Eversong Woods should not be this cold.

Nestled into a hollow tree, Temperance opens their weary eyes. The sun has barely kissed the horizon, and it’s much too early for them to wake up. Without body heat of their own, their downy feathers do little to protect them from the morning cold. They huddle into their little nest of moss, closing their gembound eyes, praying to an unnamed god for sleep to take them - but it’s day again. They can’t fall back asleep. They rise and stretch their wings and hop out onto a branch, into a lonely, autumnal forest. All the birds are gone. The mere presence of Temperance is enough to chase them away - alongside the critters, the deer, even the lynx. It’s curious that, for the first time ever, the Prince misses their presence. Any presence. Any sign that they’re not truly alone. They wish for a warm body, a hug, a comforting murmur - they wish to fly back into the arms of their lover.

Former lover. Night makes way for day, and the little white bird makes way for a white-haired high elf. They land onto the forest floor with a soft thud. Their selfish mind begins to wander, looking for an out, a reprieve. A sob chokes out in their throat and dies there. Sacerdos was dead. Azerea was gone. They couldn’t bring their shame to the Order, not again. They wouldn’t humiliate themself in front of their friends. Every person Temperance would normally confide in felt so far away, like an invisible barrier had been raised between them. Except…

A mote of warmth linger from the previous evening. The san’layn dips their hand into their back pocket, trembling, pulling out a crumpled up receipt. They stare at it, memorize it over and over again until there’s no chance of forgetting. Then they tuck it away into their nest. Family. Through hunger and bloodshed, their bond had persisted. There was no judgement in their family. They had already seen and felt the worst of each other -- of Temperance. Of…. Y’llarith. They swallow their pride and their sob. Business first. They had a tea party to prepare. Then, perhaps, they would set their sights to Kalimdor. To the Barrens.

To Stixit.

#stixit #y'llarith #ashafael #azerea #temperance