Northern looked around the area of the table they were arranging, surveying the precise placement of silverware and plates.
"Right. Well. The table looks... adequate."
Eisha laughed through her tears.
"Still can't accept affection gracefully, I see."
"I accept it fine. I just don't know what to do with my face."
"Your face is perfect."
Northern groaned.
"Please stop."
The dinner was a peculiar affair.
The hall had filled with both Seraphae and Arethamine, their golden wings catching the fading light through the windows. The two groups mingled with practiced ease—centuries of cohabitation, Northern supposed.
The food was... strange.
Delicious, but strange.
