12.2
It's dark here, in this bed of raven feathers.
Kraehe's leaning against the solidness of Mytho, listening to his shallow breath as he lays against the piles of feather-blackness. He's silent, quiet, like a doll.
He has been, ever since she took love from his heart.
That's what he deserves, for choosing another princess over here, she reminds herself. She steels herself, and then starts to laugh quietly.
"One prince can't have two princesses," Kraehe says, stroking the side of Mytho's face before raising up on one elbow and looking into the distance, smile playing on her face. "Isn't that right, Herr Drosselmeyer?"
Kraehe's leaning against the solidness of Mytho, listening to his shallow breath as he lays against the piles of feather-blackness. He's silent, quiet, like a doll.
He has been, ever since she took love from his heart.
That's what he deserves, for choosing another princess over here, she reminds herself. She steels herself, and then starts to laugh quietly.
"One prince can't have two princesses," Kraehe says, stroking the side of Mytho's face before raising up on one elbow and looking into the distance, smile playing on her face. "Isn't that right, Herr Drosselmeyer?"