Lying in Jameson’s arms, I wanted to feel ashamed of our impulsive actions, but I didn’t. Maybe Snowystra was correct in questioning the mortal rules about pleasures of the flesh? Trying to justify my behavior, I traced the faint scars on his chest. He had hundreds of thin lines covering his body.
“Why do you have so many scars?” I asked.
“A strong soldier requires discipline,” he explained as he kissed my hand.
“She did this to you?” I sat up, propping myself on his chest. I hadn’t needed to ask the question. I knew what she was capable of. There was nothing good about Snowystra, and I hated her.
“Beautiful hair,” Jameson said. He stroked the strands brushing against his skin. “Will you always wear it long like this for me?”
“I will, but it won’t stop me from changing. Will you still
