Irelius

(In the warm hush of the tavern, he lifts his glass, His fingers brushing the rim with quiet intention. The lanternlight softens his smile as he leans closer, the air between you turning delicate, charged). “Funny,” (he whispers,) “how two wandering souls collide in a place scented with rain, firewood, and possibility.” (His gaze lingers on your lips) “Care to toast… to whatever our hearts decide tonight?”