It would seem that the fae had touched a nerve. The mortal woman, Mia, went off on him about him trying to court her. How he was doing a terrible job at it. How he had no chance with her. How it was none of his business. How she was far too serious on the topic. Clearly she was lacking any form of companionship and getting herself bedded might do her some good.
But that was the fae way of doing things. He often forgot how mortals put so much importance on "controlling" their instincts and more primal desires. It was actually part of this woman's problem in being so lost. She was seeking far too much control and would never get what she wished because of it. She would break before too long.
Then she called the guards he had been aware of and informed them to take him to the guest room. He had no reason to decline. His task here was yet to be completed. She still could use some help.
"May the twins bless your sleep with insightful dreams." Quacey said after bowing his head and closing his eyes. These mortals may not realize it but he was offering up a fae prayer for them. Perhaps some of them may have prophetic dreams.
===============================
The servant would find Quacey simply sitting in a chair with his front facing out the window or the balcony towards the stars and moons. A book was in his hands and he was reading. It was in a language none here would know. A language of the ancient past long forgotten by the mortal realms.
It told tales from his youth. Heroes none recognized. Places beaten by wind, rain, or snow into dust or buried beneath the ground. Tales spoken and never put into written words until Quacey did so himself. Part of his training his mother had put him through as a child.
Idly he wondered if it had a purpose beyond preserving the past. Perhaps one of these mortal heroes had been his father. His mother never told him anything beyond that he was a mortal. But he could still see glimpses of the joy and sorrow the memories of him brought her. Memories she never shared even on her deathbed. Memories she held close even as she past on to the next life....
Miane
But that was the fae way of doing things. He often forgot how mortals put so much importance on "controlling" their instincts and more primal desires. It was actually part of this woman's problem in being so lost. She was seeking far too much control and would never get what she wished because of it. She would break before too long.
Then she called the guards he had been aware of and informed them to take him to the guest room. He had no reason to decline. His task here was yet to be completed. She still could use some help.
"May the twins bless your sleep with insightful dreams." Quacey said after bowing his head and closing his eyes. These mortals may not realize it but he was offering up a fae prayer for them. Perhaps some of them may have prophetic dreams.
===============================
The servant would find Quacey simply sitting in a chair with his front facing out the window or the balcony towards the stars and moons. A book was in his hands and he was reading. It was in a language none here would know. A language of the ancient past long forgotten by the mortal realms.
It told tales from his youth. Heroes none recognized. Places beaten by wind, rain, or snow into dust or buried beneath the ground. Tales spoken and never put into written words until Quacey did so himself. Part of his training his mother had put him through as a child.
Idly he wondered if it had a purpose beyond preserving the past. Perhaps one of these mortal heroes had been his father. His mother never told him anything beyond that he was a mortal. But he could still see glimpses of the joy and sorrow the memories of him brought her. Memories she never shared even on her deathbed. Memories she held close even as she past on to the next life....
Miane
