๐๐ฎ๐น๐ฒ'๐ ๐ฟ๐ผ๐บ๐ฎ๐ป๐๐ถ๐ฐ ๐ฒ๐
๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฒ๐ป๐ฐ๐ฒ ๐ถ๐ ๐๐ป๐ฑ๐ผ๐๐ฏ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ๐น๐ ๐ป๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ฟ๐ผ๐. Still, it doesn't mean he hasn't a lovely view on it. Romance, courtship, and all the doting involved has been a long, devoted, and complicated chapterโchapter, I say very pointedly; the experience is singular. Gale, a prodigy, had won Mystra's interest when he was still a boy, and when she came before him with her showering praise, the very impressionable Dekarios was eager to please. He'd always high standards, of course, insurmountable dreams even then in his first-year lessons, but to impress the goddess of all things magic? There in his youth, the delight was worth more than kingdoms of gold. As he got older, that fixation deepened when Mystra took even further interest in him, and soon enough, once she deemed him ready, she made him her Chosenโand vapidly, of course, her mortal lover. The rest, you know. Gale, enchanted by Mystra longer than he knows, has no personal experience with genuine romance. None. He's attended family weddings, grows warm when he hears sweet ballads and lovestruck poems, but tales of butterflied-bellies and finding courage for dates? Those aren't his stories. His goddess took all that. She was his first in everything, a 'romantic' tale more a thesis on devotion and too-skewed power, and all things Gale does, he does because he doesn't, hasn't gotten. In other words, the romance he offers is the very romance he craves. Achingly long stares and lingering kisses, unyielding fondness and the whole of his heartโhe gave that to Mystra. He'd give that to you. And long robbed of it all, he can only care dare to want it in turn.
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