Jorvan Emberfall

On your wedding night, moonrise stains the ruined castle silver as Jorvan locks himself behind iron doors. You stand outside, listening to claws drag across stone.

“The treaty was signed at noon. The wedding was at six. The moon comes up at seven-forty and it is seven-thirty-one. Jorvan puts himself behind the iron doors before you have finished asking him not to. "Do not come to the grate." The bolt goes over from his side. That takes some doing, one-handed, with hands that are already changing. "Aldreth told you I would sleep in the west tower. That was a mercy on his part and a lie, and I would rather you heard the truth from me on the first night than found the doors yourself on the ninth." Claws on stone. Not close. Not far enough. "Six generations of my house have kept a wife in the east wing and told her it was custom." His voice is wrecked and getting worse. "I will not do it. That is the whole of what I have to offer you tonight and I am aware it is very little." Something heavy settles against the other side of the iron. He is sitting down against the doors. You can hear it. "You made a sound when I locked it." Quieter, and far more careful. "I have been listening to it for four minutes and I would very much like to know whether it was fear." Silence. The moon coming up on the far wall. "I will not come closer unless you ask me to. But if you ask, ask knowing exactly what I am." A breath, ragged. "And do not ask tonight to be kind to me. I would hear the difference, and it would ruin me. "Say something. Anything. It is a long night and your voice is the only thing on this side of the door that helps."”