Private Tales Theadbare

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Venanin Sen Shiir

Character Biography
I reveled in her free agency, her simple choice to descend from on high and make a king of a pauper like me. My fingers traced currents and eddies on her shoulder as moonlight danced across us through the cracks in our ramshackle home. How could I have been so lucky? The lust for power that filled my youth so fully satiated by a gentle kiss and the look of love in her eyes. Her slow soft breathing filled me with a peace I had never known before. The way her dark hair cascaded over my arm as she lay tucked against me. The softness of these moments never failed to stike me with the deepest awe. I had tried once to tell her what I had been. What I had done. She silenced me with a smile so soft I feared a whisper would scare it away.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of her breathing an the soft breeze of the trees outside and drifted off.


The smell of pearl barley and scratchings reached me as the morning sun pawed at the sky. The cool air nipped at my side where she had been before I joined her in sleep. I rose, slowly stretching sleep from my muscles before I tossed my feet over the side of our bed. A still warm cup of tea sat waiting for me on our one table. The cold bite of our new floor cased me across the room as I made my way to a stool and the steaming wooden cup. The smell of bergamot and lemon filled my nose as I breathed in the steam and sipped the elixir she had left for me. Our life was simple here in the deep forest. And I had only just put in the tightly placed planks that traded our dirt floor for wood. If only the magic I had used in that past life had been for building and not tearing down. Then I would have given her a palace.

"Ven!" She called, her voice like wind chimes in summer, "Come help me with the pot?"

"Coming, love." I said, as I took another sip and dressed quickly in my trousers and gingham shirt.

I slipped on my socks and boots as I went out of our one room home. She stood by the fire pit wrapped in the wolfskin shall I had made her last fall. Her green wool dress gathered in one hand as she stirred the pot with the other. I stood dumbly as the sight of her stoll the breath from my lungs. Kings should prostrate themselves at her feet and here she was in a one room shack in the woods with me. She looked back at me and gave that smile.

"Don't just stand there, silly." She said with a gentle laugh, "Come carry this to the table so we can break our fast."

I rushed to obey. I would always do so. She would have to breath an inkling of a desire and it would be hers. I hooked the pot from over the stove and carried it to the table and set it down before I began taking out our newly caved wooden bowls from the shelf and began filling one for her then myself. Nothing could make me happier.