by Ruth Davis Hays
Watching the thin pale smoke inside one of the numerous glow orbs that lined the gallery, Lauralei issued a deliberate sigh. Her maidservant, Ameila, glanced in her direction as they strolled. The Contes had requested Ameila accompany her to the royal court and for that opportunity, the maidservant was grateful. Yet, the few drops of elven blood still residing in her family line were weary of being deep underground. She was longing for wind and trees, the smells of the season and the ripple of leaves. Her psyche screamed, and no matter the height of the room, she wanted to claw off her face.
Shuddering at the ever growing distance she felt from all things green, Ameila tried to attend to her mistress’s mood. “A sigh of boredom or despair, Contes? Are you ready to return to Jeullion?”
“Even you are addressing me by title now?”
View original post 836 more words