A colorful celebration of life

Eularia listened, squeezing his hand tightly in her own. And by the end of it, she'd pulled him to her, free arm tight around him in a hug. I'm so sorry. That's... not the kind of thing that time can fix. She murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Her first husband had been that way; and that's why she'd killed the possessive bastard. And that was why she'd never let a man make her feel like he owned her, again. She'd been trafficked, she'd been there. Never. Again.

She buried her face, briefly against Magnus' shoulder, her free hand brushing through his hair. And then she asked: Did you kill him? She'd pulled back from the hug, expectantly studying the man in front of her. I hope you did.