For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

Perilous Loves Below the Savage Bedside
by Narcissus van Oddfellow

   Waiting alone in the Red Chamber, remembering its bloody history, with the aristocratic sweet orchard smell wafting in from outside, Mark — she who had always seemed so cold! — thought once more of Baron Kerry, the only man she had ever really loved. He was now, according to Brother Beth, on a collision course with the High Council itself.
   At long last came an abrupt fanfare from the long-silent trumpets, and she somehow knew that her heart had been right all along. He was here! “Come to me, my darling!” he breathed.
   Only in this moment of extremity could it have happened that the truth — the whole truth — slowly came home to her, and as it dawned on her that her days of loneliness were over, she began to wonder how she would explain all this to Peason.

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