One Always Leaves Before The Other   1957.04.23*  
Written By: Chris T.
(Trolls Story) For trolls, not all young loves end with marriage.
Posted: 09/20/15      [6 Comments]
 

3rd Night of the Second Spring Moon in the 1447th Year of Underhaven

The smells of lovemaking hovered in the air of the borrowed bedroom. Hatchet’s hair lay unfurled in a sticky plume of deep red across her pillow. Her uncovered breasts were propped upward by the forearm of the exquisite troll-woman who was wrapped around her.

“I should get going,” Cauldron said with a kiss upon the Platoon Leader’s cheek. “Inkstain will be home in a bell or so.”

Hatchet reached for her lover’s hand as it snaked across her ribcage, kissed it. As much as she wanted to hold on, she offered no resistance when it trailed away. Cauldron kicked the covers off her legs and hefted herself off the side of the bed, to sponge off at the water bowl. The warrior rolled over to her side, thirsty amber eyes soaking up the a few last looks at the scholar. That perfectly curved nose. Those dark grey eyes with specks of silver that gleamed like freshly-polished diamonds. Breasts so round and splendid as to put the Moons above to shame. The cascade of blue-black hair, the trailing edge of which rolled off the plumpest rump in all of Underhaven. Legs and arms that were the Scroll’s-own definition of curvaceous. And pulsing through all that physical perfection was the beating light of the heart that Hatchet had adored since that first boating trip on Deepwater Lake, nigh on two hundred years prior. And decades before their betrothals kicked in, and they were both obliged to make vows that neither could keep.

It was a perfect moment. As Cauldron reached for her clothes, though, Hatchet lurched upright. Grabbed fully, and all too soon, by the melancholy that always followed one of their rendezvous. The loneliness that chased her everywhere, from a crowded mess hall to her own marital bed. The warrior pulled her legs aside so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, with not the faintest idea what to do with her hands. She started at them for an eternity. “I don’t… him… me... I think I want to dissolve my marital contract.” Never an easy thing to obtain in Underhaven.

“I don’t.” Cauldron was standing by the door, putting the last fixes on her braid. Her face was just as torn, but in a different direction. “I want Inkstain. I want you. I want it all.”

In Underhaven, that was an impossible thing to obtain.

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