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After sunset, the evening’s rainstorm slowed to a soft pitter-patter. Water dripped off the leaves onto the treehouse’s roof, but Rosemary had opened the shutters and curtains to allow the gentle sea-breeze in. The witch came alive in the night, when she could embrace solitude once more as her longest friend, and she adored hearing the nighttime bugs replace the shrieking children and pirates calling for a healer.

Rosemary settled into a bundle of furs and soft things, squeezed between one stack of herbal books and another detailing nothing but fictitious dreams. Given the temple’s abysmal supplies, thanks to the Iron Forged, she needed to brush up on usage of less common, but still useful, plants left by the looters. But even voracious readers couldn’t study all day, and her bookmarked copy of The Deep lay atop the fiction pile for easy access.

Standing out against the dark night, the treehouse overflowed with flickering light. Little candles burned in strange places; a bundle hung from the ceiling like potted plants, another burned bright on the table, and a cluster of tiny ones burned close to Rosemary. Bugs occasionally tried their luck, getting to them, but the spiderwebs in the windows and dry orange peels repealed the loudest and most annoying of the bunch. Rosemary’s precise magic strikes handled the rest.

By candlelight, Rosemary plucked the mermaid romance from the pile and flipped to her place.

[member=16858]DIEGO[/member]

PEACEFALL

peace comes at dawn, but yours comes at night