Dalaran had its wonders and certainly she enjoyed the classy dates Raoul took her on. But when Juma led her by the hand into the orchard to show her where he wanted to take her on their date, Amavia felt faint.
Sometimes simple had more appeal than diamonds and fine dining. She was, after all, a Westfall girl at heart.
He was always so nervous, stuttering even when her face was aglow with delight at his tokens of romance.
Some things never change.
“What the fuck did you plant in the orchard?” Raoul Wheaton would never hold back a punch when he had the opportunity to throw it.
So it wasn’t that much of a surprise when the other young man fell against the wall with a busted nose. He narrowed his green eyes to slits and barely rose his arm in time to block another blow.
“I didn’t plant anything! I wouldn’t mess with her trees. I know how important they are to her!”
“Bullshit! You’re telling me that twisted black thing out there isn’t your fault? It’s ALWAYS your fault! Milk gone bad? Sangrey was just in the kitchen! Newspaper no longer interesting? Sangrey had his grubby hands on it earlier! Scary fucking tree in the orchard? Sangrey MUST HAVE BEEN fucking around out there!”
Raoul shook him with every sentence, determined to find out what the hell was going on.
She waved them at him, trying to get his attention. But he was always so busy. The experiments were never done.
Now she waves them at another man, but it’s not to catch his eye. It’s because he’s waving them too.
It’s a game, a secret code, a courting dance.
And the first man burns in his skin, lit up inside like so many sparklers that he once called frivolous and distracting.
“Fireworks are supposed to be beautiful and special. She and I shared their beauty.
A thousand stars bursting in the air.
Now HE carries one in his pocket like it’s nothing- like my love with her was NOTHING.” ~Jeffrey-Ellis Sangrey.
All the beauty that the stars possessed that night, the two young lovers held in their own nervous hands.