The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dress shop's spotless windows as Mikhail and Anora approached the elegant storefront. Inside, mannequins draped in fine silks and delicate laces stood like silent sentinels, their wooden forms catching the golden light. The blue dress that had caught Anora's eye still hung in pride of place, its silver embroidery shining like captured starlight.

  As they entered, a small silver bell announced their presence with a musical chime. Madam Evylin, the elven proprietor, looked up from her workbench, her ageless face shifting from welcoming to guarded as she took in the unlikely pair. Her slender fingers stilled on the fabric she had been working, needle poised mid-stitch.

  "I'm afraid we don't..." she began, her melodic voice carrying carefully measured politeness.

  "We can pay," Mikhail interrupted firmly, knowing what she was gonna say, producing a small pouch that clinked with promise. "My lady deserves a proper dress." he added in a softer tone, nodding down at Anora.

  Madam Evylin's pale eyes flickered between the coin purse and Anora's hopeful face then back to the coin purse. After a moment's calculation, she set aside her work with fluid grace. "Very well," she conceded, though her tone suggested she was accepting a peculiar challenge rather than a simple commission. “Is there a particular dress that has caught your eye?” she asked Anora.

  Anora quietly nodded her head and pointed to the blue one in the window. The elf looked up at the blue dress in the window then back down at Anora. “My dear, that dress is quite expensive and is made for humans, not petite goblins.”

  Mikhail shook the coin purse, the remaining seven gold clinking inside. Madam Evylin closed her eyes for a moment then shrugged. What did she care if a human wanted to put his servant in a dress that he certainly looked like she couldn’t wear well. “Very well.” she said and stepped over to the blue dress. Carefully taking it from the wooden mannequin that it sat on. Returning she looked at Mikhail and gestured to a chair. “You may take a seat there, good sir.”

  Mikhail smiled and nodded as the tall elf woman reached out to Anora who looked up at Mikhail for guidance. She had never been in a dress shop before, let alone around a person so tall or even in a real city for that matter. Mikhail could see the concern in her eyes. “It’s alright Anora. She won’t hurt you. I promise.” He smiled, hoping it would put her at ease. To an extent it did. Anora looked at him then back to the elf before following her.

  She led Anora behind an ornate privacy screen, its panels decorated with hand-painted cedar branches. Mikhail settled onto a cushioned chair to wait, trying not to fidget as whispered instructions and the rustle of fabric drifted from behind the screen.

  "Arms up," Madam Evylin directed once they were behind the screen, her professional demeanor taking precedence over any lingering reservations. As she helped Anora out of her old dress, her breath caught slightly. Beneath the worn orange fabric, a network of old scars marked the goblin girl's green skin, particularly across her lower back, buttocks, and upper thighs. The marks told a story of cruelty that made the elven woman's ancient heart ache. She had seen many things in her time but never scars that looked so deep and angry even though they had paled over time. She looked up at Anora, their eyes in the mirror that stood across from Anora.

  "Child," she said softly, her fingers hovering over the scars. "Did he... has the human done this to you?"

  Anora's orange eyes widened in horror as she realized what Madam Evylin was asking. "No!" she whispered fiercely, color flooding her green cheeks, her orange freckles seeming to darken. "Never. Mikhail would never hurt me. He..." she swallowed hard, fighting back sudden tears. "He saved me from those who did."

  Madam Evylin studied Anora's face for a long moment, her countenance firm, reading the truth in her eyes. “Who then?” she asked Anora. But Anora stood silent. It wasn’t something she wanted to tell a stranger. “Does he know?” Madam Evylin asked. Anora shook her head, keeping her head down and wrapping an arm across her chest and holding the other.

  Madam Evylin, now on her knees, straightened to be eye level with Anora as she turned the young female goblin around. Anora obliged her instructions without protest but kept herself guarded during the elf’s inspection. Once done Anora had held her face to the ground feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. “Look at me dear.” Madam Evylin commanded motherly. Anora looked up at her.

  “Do not worry. I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to. That is your story to tell. But, I am going to make you feel beautiful.”

  Without another word, she returned to her task, but her touch grew gentler, more maternal. “Arms up, please.” she commanded. Anora complied and then felt the blue dress slip over her as Madam Evylin pulled it on.The blue fabric flowed like water through her practiced hands as she began to fit it to Anora's small frame. It pooled upon the floor, being made originally for a human woman of average height and bust. But on Anora’s much smaller frame it was loose and made her feel like a small green speck in a vast underground lake, threatening to drown her in its decadence. Madam Evylin her only lifeline.

  Madam Evylin began to take pins from the pin cushion on her wrist and using some chalk and a tape measure she started to mark in various places, muttering words to herself that Anora didn’t quite understand but took as her making mental notes on where to cut and trim and where to sew. As she worked Anora watched the reflection of them in the mirror, she became entranced by the image of herself in the blue dress as it began to take shape around her. Lost in how she looked inside the dress. She had seen herself in pools of water before. The reflections had been of a haggard, lost, and scared girl in a world full of things that had meant her harm. That harm not always being death. For death would have been simple and not something that she would have to carry for the rest of her days. Death wasn't something that had tainted her. She stared at her eyes. They seemed brighter now, along with her complexion. Her face and arms seemed to have more weight to them.

  She thought back to that first night she and Mikhail had met, after he had saved her from those destable bandits. How long had that been? A week? Two? Maybe a year? Anora honestly didn’t care. All she cared for now was him and how he had changed her life that night. But one question did gnaw at the back of her mind. Why?

  “There!” Madam Evylin said, knocking Anora from her thoughts as the final pins went into place with practiced precision, Madam Evylin stepped back to survey her work. The dress hugged Anora's figure perfectly, the silver embroidery catching the light like dewdrops at dawn. Despite herself, the elven seamstress felt a surge of pride at how the garment transformed the small goblin woman, lending her a grace that transcended race.

  "Beautiful," she murmured, more to herself than to Anora. "Like twilight captured in fabric."

  Behind the screen, Anora's orange eyes filled with tears of joy as she gazed at her reflection in the full-length mirror. For the first time in her life, she felt truly beautiful.

  "You may show him now," she said softly, her melodic voice carrying a note of unexpected warmth. Anora looked up at herself in the mirror. With a nod she stepped out from behind the privacy screen, the blue fabric flowing around her like captured twilight. The silver embroidery caught the afternoon light streaming through the windows, creating patterns that danced across her green skin like starlight on water. Her red curls, vibrant against the deep blue of the dress, framed her face in a fiery halo.

  Mikhail's breath caught in his throat as he rose slowly from his chair, his blue eyes wide with wonder as he took in the sight before him. The dress had transformed Anora, not by hiding her goblin nature, but by elevating it into something regal and ethereal. The cut of the fabric emphasized her small frame while lending her a grace that seemed to transcend the mundane world.

  "Anora," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "You're..."

  She stood before him, her orange eyes seeking his, vulnerable yet hopeful. Her small hands twisted in the fabric of her skirts, a gesture of nervous anticipation. "Does it... do you like it?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Instead of answering immediately, Mikhail crossed the space between them in two long strides. He reached out, his fingers gentle as they traced the silver embroidery at her shoulder. "You're beautiful," he breathed, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her cheeks flush a deeper green. "Like something from a dream I never knew I had."

  The joy that bloomed across Anora's face at his words outshone even the dress's splendor. She turned slowly, the fabric swirling around her like water catching sunlight, and for a moment, the shop seemed to hold its breath in appreciation of the simple magic of the moment.

  Just then the bell above the door chimed sharply. Three human women entered, their clothes marking them as women of stature.

  They halted at the sight of Anora in the blue gown, their expressions hardening with disgust. Their combined laughter stopping in unison. The lead woman’s hand clenched around her coin purse. "A goblin?" she spat. "In silk?" Her eyes raked over Anora with unconcealed revulsion.

  "And in that color!" another added, her voice dripping with disdain. "As if such a creature could ever hope to pass for-"

  "Have you lost your senses, Madam Evylin?" The lead woman interrupted.

  "My coin's as good as anyone's in this shop," one of her companions added. "But I won't have my dresses fitted in the same space as-"

  "Enough." Madam Evylin's melodic voice carried the weight of centuries. The elven seamstress moved with fluid grace to stand between the women and Anora. "This is my establishment, Martha, and I choose my clients. All women deserve beauty, regardless of race or station. If you cannot abide by this simple courtesy, I must ask you to take your business elsewhere."

  "Beauty?" Martha barked a harsh laugh. "That creature wouldn't know beauty if it-"

  "I believe we're done here." Madam Evylin's pale eyes flashed like steel in sunlight. "You may take your business elsewhere if my policies offend you."

  The women withdrew, muttering dark promises about spreading word of the shop's "falling standards." The bell rang with their angry departure as Madam Evylin turned back to Anora and Mikhail, her ancient face softening. “I apologize for that.” She told them. “Some of the people in this town forget their manners often. Now come, child. Let's get you back into your other dress."

  Mikhail stood still as he watched the hags walk down the street, his knuckles turning white as an anger filled him. He was starting to grow tired of the insults that these people always seemed to levy at Anora. He calmed himself and turned his attention back to Anora and Madam Evylin.

  Behind the privacy screen, Anora's hands trembled slightly, mostly from anger, as Madam Evylin helped her out of the blue gown. The elven seamstress worked with gentle efficiency, carefully easing the fabric away from Anora's small frame. As she helped Anora back into her orange dress, her movements were almost maternal, as if trying to shield the young goblin woman from the cruelty they had just witnessed.

  Madam Evylin stepped out from behind the screen, her ageless face composed but thoughtful. "The dress will need some minor alterations," she announced, her melodic voice carrying through the shop. "Return tomorrow morning, and it will be ready for you."

  Mikhail nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Madam Evylin. We’ll be her around midday"

  “That will be fine.” She answered, adding. “You can pay me for the dress then.”

  As Anora emerged, now back in her old dress, her orange eyes sparkled with barely contained joy. She reached for Mikhail's hand without hesitation, twining her small green fingers through his. The gesture seemed to transform her entire being, as if his touch gave her the courage to stand taller, to claim her place in the world.

  They stepped out into the late afternoon light, Anora pressing close against Mikhail's side as they walked. Her happiness radiated from her like warmth from a hearth, making her practically float along the cobblestone streets. The silver bell chimed softly behind them as the shop door closed.

  Their progress through Cedarcrest drew immediate attention. A group of merchants exchanged dark looks, their conversations dropping to pointed whispers. A woman hurriedly gathered her children closer as they passed, as if afraid their love might be contagious. But wrapped in their private joy, Mikhail and Anora barely noticed the sideways glances and muttered disapproval. But barely was still some. Mikhail could hear a few of the mutterings as they passed by. Mutterings of “That's just distasteful.” or “He’s a traitor to his own race.”

  Mikhail ignored them though. They were just words after all.

  The Axe and Fiddle's familiar weathered sign soon came into view, creaking gently in the afternoon breeze. Inside, they found Marta wiping down the bar while Grug arranged chairs for the evening crowd. Both looked up as the couple entered, their expressions warming with genuine welcome.

  "Well?" Marta demanded, setting aside her cloth. "How did it go with Eliath?"

  Anora settled onto a stool while Mikhail leaned against the bar, his hand never leaving hers. "He's... different than I expected," Mikhail admitted. "But he seems to know a lot about what's happening in the city."

  Grug moved closer, his substantial bulk casting a shadow across the bar. "Aye, that he would. Eliath's been here longer than most, sees more than he lets on." He exchanged a meaningful look with his wife. "Did he have anything useful to say?"

  Mikhail's face grew somber as he recounted their encounter at Eliath's shop. "We saw an old man's granddaughter’s there," he said quietly, his fingers tightening around his tankard. "The look in their eyes when they saw us... I'll never forget it."

  Anora pressed closer to his side, offering silent comfort as he continued. "Their grandfather died protecting them from another man named Rawl and his men. Because of us." His voice cracked slightly. "I wish there was something we could do to help them."

  Marta reached across the bar, her weathered hand covering Mikhail's. "Guilt's a heavy burden, lad. But you can't carry the weight of every evil man's actions."

  "Besides," Grug added, his deep voice gentle despite his imposing frame, "Eliath will look after them. He's got a good heart under all that mystical nonsense."

  Mikhail nodded, straightening slightly. "There was some good news today, at least. The dwarven blacksmith, Thorgar, he's taken me on as an apprentice. I start tomorrow morning."

  "Thorgar?" Grug's eyebrows rose in surprise. "That old stone-face hasn't taken an apprentice in years. Must've seen something special in you, boy."

  "Speaking of special," Marta interjected, her eyes twinkling, "will you two be attending the Timber Festival?"

  Anora's face brightened at the mention of the festival, and Mikhail smiled down at her. "We are. Actually, we just ordered Anora a new dress for it - we'll pick it up tomorrow at midday"

  "And what are your plans for the rest of today?" Marta asked, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

  Mikhail shrugged. "I thought about exploring more of the town, but-"

  "Why not have a picnic?" Marta suggested. "The weather's perfect for it. And there’s still plenty of daylight left.”

  "What's a picnic?" Anora asked, her orange eyes bright with curiosity.

  Mikhail's face lit up at her question. "Would you like to find out?" When she nodded eagerly, he turned to Marta. "Could you help us put together some food for one?"

  Marta's smile widened as she reached under the counter, producing a woven basket already packed with food. "You don't think I know young love when I see it?" she asked, setting the basket on the counter. "Go on, you two. Have a good time."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Color flooded Mikhail's cheeks as he thanked her, taking the basket in one hand while his other found Anora's. Together, they made their way to the stables, where Bakule greeted them with a gentle snort.

  As Mikhail began saddling the elk, Anora stroked Bakule's nose, her small green hands moving with familiar affection across his velvety muzzle. The afternoon sun streaming through the stable windows caught her red curls, setting them ablaze with golden light.

  The simple domesticity of the moment - the familiar routine of preparing for a ride, the warmth of the stable, the quiet understanding between them - filled Mikhail's heart with a contentment he had never known before coming to Cedarcrest.

  Mikhail secured the picnic basket to Bakule's saddle before helping Anora mount. The elk's massive antlers swayed gently as he adjusted to her familiar weight. “Oh, My spear!” Mikhail said excitedly. “Hang tight right here. I’m gonna go get it.” Before Anora could protest Mikhail ran off to their room to get his spear.

  Anora sat on Bakules back, watching him sway his massive head and antlers back and forth, feeling his breathing beneath her. It lulled her into a mindful state and she was soon contemplating the words that Madam Evylin had said about her scars. They were a part of her past that she wasn’t comfortable speaking about, the memories still painful even after three years alone. If anything that made them more painful.

  Now she had another torment. Should she tell Mikhail of them? Surely he would find out one day. Would he accept her? Would the scars push him Away? Anora felt that she wouldn’t be able to take that if they did. She shook her head but then another thought occurred. What if he did accept her? He already said that he loved her. Still, a voice in the back of her mind said, “He will run away if you show him.”

  Anora hated that voice. It had never been kind to her. “I must show him.” She said aloud, mostly to that voice in her mind.

  “Show me what?” Mikhail asked. Startling Anora who hadn’t seen him return with the spear and her knife. Rawls old knife. It was so big that to her it looked like a shortsword.

  Anora shook her head. Embarrassed. “Uh, nothing.” She replied, taking the knife from Mikhail. He stared at her for a moment, not angry but concerned then shrugged and slid his spear into its holster.

  After sliding his spear into its holder, Mikhail swung up behind her, his arms creating a protective circle as he took the reins. Anora leaned back against him, feeling protected and somehow hidden as they exited the stall and soon passed through Cedarcrest's western gate, the afternoon sun warm on their backs as they left the city's watchful eyes behind. Once the cobblestones gave way to packed earth, Mikhail urged Bakule into an easy trot. The rhythmic motion reminded him of their first ride together, when his impulsive decision to gallop had terrified her.

  A mischievous smile played at his lips as an idea formed. "Anora," he said softly, his breath stirring her red curls. "Would you like to try going faster?"

  She tensed slightly in his arms, memories of that first wild ride clearly fresh in her mind. "I... I don't know," she answered hesitantly.

  "Trust me," Mikhail murmured, his voice gentle. "I won't let anything happen to you. We'll take it slow at first."

  Anora looked up into his eyes, after a moment she nodded. Mikhail clicked his tongue and pressed his heels against Bakule's flanks. The elk responded instantly, his powerful muscles bunching as he surged forward. The elk seemed eager to run. Anora pressed back against Mikhail's chest from the sudden burst of speed, her small hands gripping the saddle horn.

  "Keep your eyes open," Mikhail encouraged as the wind whipped past them, knowing that she would close her eyes. His sister had done much the same the first few times that he had given her a ride on Bakule. "Look at how the world moves."

  Slowly, Anora's orange eyes opened. The landscape flowed around them like a river of green and gold, trees and wildflowers blurring into streams of color. Bakule's hooves thundered against the earth, creating a primal rhythm that seemed to match her quickening heartbeat.

  "Here," Mikhail said, pressing the reins into her small green hands. "Guide him where you want to go."

  Anora's eyes widened with surprise. "Me? But I've never..."

  "You can do it," Mikhail assured her, his hands steady on her waist. "Bakule knows how to follow the reins. Just show him where you want to be." As she tentatively took control she was acutely aware of Mikhail's hands, he added, "The red elks of my village are different from horses. They can outrun almost anything in a sprint - that's why we use them for hunting and quick travel through the mountains. But they don't have the endurance that horses do."

  His voice carried the pride of his people as he continued, "A red elk can overtake a horse easily in the first few miles, but they tire quickly. That's why we trained them to pace themselves, to know when to run and when to conserve their strength." He leaned forward and patted Bakule's neck affectionately. "It's a trade-off we accepted long ago when we first started breeding them."

  With trembling fingers, Anora took control. Her first turns were hesitant, but as her confidence grew, so did her joy. Mikhail’s coaching helped. Her red curls would‘ve streamed behind her like a banner of flame if Mikhail hadn’t been sitting behind her. Instead it waved against his chest and neck. He smiled as he watched her confidence grow in the few moments she had held the reins. He kept his hands upon her waist, holding her in place as he spoke softly in her ear instructions on what to do next. “Ease up on the reins, you don’t want him to stop suddenly.” and “That’s it. Just pull one rein towards you and he’ll go that way.”

  Soon her laughter carried on the wind. Each new direction brought fresh exhilaration, each moment of speed adding to her growing sense of freedom. She had only been with him for a short time, was it a week? A month? He couldn’t honestly recall. Mikhail shrugged. “Wanna go faster?” he asked. Anora turned her head, glancing at him while trying her best to watch the road infront of her.

  “He can go faster?” She asked surprised.

  “Much faster. But only if you want to.”

  A mischievous grin spread across Anora’s face. “Yes. Let’s go faster.”

  Mikhail laughed and used his heels to nudge Bakule into a full gallop, while wrapping his hands around Anora’s. He guided her hands up and then quickly down, causing the reins to crack as he yelled. “YAA!”

  Anora squealed with delight and a bit of terror as Bakule seemed to surge forward, faster than she had thought possible. She had thought that he had been going as fast as he could but she had been wrong. The world passed by less like a blur and now like a solidification of colors. Mikhail's hands remained over hers, holding the reins but he seemed much more alive than before, losing a yell and hollering in excitement.

  Bakules hooves thundered underneath them and the animal's chest heaved as he breathed. His head bobbed. Bakule was the very picture of pure speed. Mikhail pulled the reins to the right and they left the road and into an open field. After another few seconds of galloping Anora could see a large tree ahead on the ground. They were racing towards it and showed no signs of slowing. Mikhail seemed to urge Bakule faster, laughing like a mad man. Anora was no longer enjoying the ride. Fear that they were going to crash into the massive log ahead overrode her excitement.

  “Mikhail!” she shouted and pointed. Mikhail just shouted “Do you trust me?”

  Anora did trust him but there was a giant tree they were about to crash into. What did trust have to do with it? Mikhail hollered again in excitement as the tree was now upon them. Anora shut her eyes, sure that they were going to run into it and be killed. Then she felt herself pushed back further while being pushed downward. Followed by a sensation of weightlessness as her bottom came out of the saddle for a moment. Mikhail whooped and yelled in excitement as time seemed to standstill. Anora looked up at him then at the ground. To her realization Bakule had jumped over the large tree and now they were coming down.

  The landing was softer than she would have expected as they cleared the tree and Bakule continued on for a bit but eventually, Bakule's pace began to slow, his mighty lungs working harder. “That was amazing!” Mikhail exclaimed. “What do you think?” He asked Anora.

  She looked up at him with a look that he had seen before. Her eyes set hard in a scowl and for a moment Mikhail thought he had ruined the moment. But to his chagrin she smiled and slapped his chest. “You could’ve told me that you were going to do that.” She reprimanded.

  Mikhail smiled mischievously. “Nah. It was more fun this way.” Anora humphed and slapped him again while he laughed but she had to admit that it had been exhilarating. “Can we ride fast some more?” She asked.

  Mikhail shook his head as he took back the reins. "No. He's strong, but he can only gallop for a few miles before needing rest. Like I said. The elks of our village are natural sprinters but they can only do so before they use up their energy and need rest. In a full out sprint they can beat any animal out there. But they lack long term endurance.”

  Anora nodded as she listened to him explain.

  They passed through a small copse of trees and soon through a break in them, Mikhail spotted a perfect resting place - a sun-dappled clearing beside a clear stream that wound through the trees. The water caught the afternoon light like scattered diamonds, and wildflowers dotted the grass in splashes of purple and yellow.

  "There," he said, pointing. "That looks like a perfect spot for your first picnic."

  Shortly they were stopped underneath a beautiful oak that twisted its way into the sky. Mikhail dismounted then helped Anora down from Bakule's broad back, his hands gentle around her waist as she slipped to the ground. The elk immediately wandered to the stream, dipping his massive antlered head to drink from the clear water. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves above, casting dappled shadows that danced across the forest floor.

  Mikhail walked over to Bakule and retrieved the picnic basket from the saddle, hoping that the galloping and the jump hadn’t caused the contents to spill out. Once looking inside and confirming that they were still all there he walked back over and spread a soft blanket across a patch of grass. Anora watched with intense curiosity, her orange eyes following his every movement as he arranged their meal. Fresh bread, cheese, meat and fruit emerged from the basket, along with a small jar of honey - Marta's special touch.

  "Come," Mikhail said softly, patting the blanket beside him. Anora settled next to him, her small form fitting naturally into the space at his side. They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the stream's gentle burbling providing a peaceful backdrop to their meal.

  As the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, Anora broke the silence with a simple question. “Why?”

  Mikhail looked at her, a bit confused. “Why what?” he asked her.

  Anora was silent for a moment before continuing, “Why did you save me?”

  Mikhail scoffed a bit. But Anora looked at him and he could see that her expression was serious. She genuinely wanted an answer. Mikhail set down a piece of bread that he had smothered in honey. “Well. Because you needed it. It was the right thing to do.”

  Anora smiled a bit but still it didn’t satisfy her. “I didn’t deserve it.” She said dejectedly.

  Mikhail placed his hand on her shoulder. “Stop that. You deserved it. I made sure of that.” He moved his hand to her chin and lifted her head. He could see the tears that she fought back. His eyes danced back and forth between her two orange orbs. “You may think that you don’t deserve it or any of this.” He gestured. “But you’re not the one who gets to decide that.”

  “Who does then?” She asked.

  Mikhail grinned. “I do.” He planted a kiss on her lips, while brushing his hand along her cheek. Anora leaned against him, enjoying the feeling of love that radiated off of him and just the simple act of being near him.

  “Now it’s my turn.” he said, his expression growing thoughtful. "Anora," he began carefully, "I've noticed... in your sleep, you sometimes cry out. And you twitch, like you're trying to escape something."

  Anora's shoulders tensed slightly, an instinctive reaction to the probe into her past. After what had happened in the dress shop today - Madam Evylin's discovery of her scars, the unspoken questions in the elf's ancient eyes - the walls she had built around her memories felt more fragile.

  "You don't have to tell me," Mikhail added quickly, seeing her discomfort. "But I want you to know that you're safe now. Whatever haunts your dreams can't hurt you anymore."

  Anora’s small green hands twisted in her lap. Now was the moment that she had dreaded for a while now. Should she tell him of her past or keep quiet? He had given her that option. The voice in her head screamed at her to not say anything. That if she did he would be disgusted with her and leave her alone. But she had argued and argued with it still that he was bound to find out someday. After all, they traveled together, slept in the same bed together. That voice may have kept her alive at times but it had also tormented her when all was quiet and peaceful. Inwardly she decided to shut it up by telling him.

  When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I wasn't always alone in the mountains where you found me." She pulled her knees close to her body and wrapped her arms around them.

  Mikhail remained still, afraid that any movement might cause her to retreat back into silence. The late afternoon light caught her red curls, setting them ablaze as she gathered her courage to continue.

  "I lived in an underground village," she said, her orange eyes fixed on the dancing stream before them. "My mother was a full-blooded goblin, my father... human. I never knew him." Her voice caught slightly. "The others... they made sure I knew I didn't belong. That I was wrong, somehow. Different."

  Mikhail's heart ached as she spoke, his hand moving instinctively to cover hers. She gripped his fingers tightly, drawing strength from his touch.

  "They would punish me. For being half-blood. For daring to exist." A tear slipped down her cheek, leaving a glistening trail on her green skin. "But that wasn't the worst of it."

  Mikhail waited, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand as she gathered herself to continue. In the growing twilight, her vulnerability was both beautiful and heartbreaking.

  Anora's voice grew quieter, more fragile, as she continued her story. "The males... they would come for me at night sometimes. Or during the day when I was alone." Her small frame trembled with the weight of memories. "They would force themselves on me, pull my hair, beat me if I fought back. My orange eyes and red hair made me different from the others, made me a target. They said it was proof of my tainted blood."

  Mikhail's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white with suppressed rage. The thought of anyone hurting her like that made his blood boil, but he forced himself to remain still, to be the steady presence she needed right now.

  "My mother," Anora's voice cracked on the word, "she would just watch. When I begged her for help, she said it was 'their way.' That I should accept my place." Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, catching the late afternoon light. "She told me I was lucky they even let me live, being what I was."

  The stream's gentle music seemed to mock the darkness of her revelations. Mikhail felt sick with guilt for asking, for making her relive these horrors. But Anora wasn't finished. She rose slowly to her feet, her back to him, her red curls aflame in the setting sun.

  "There's something else," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Something you need to know before... before we go any further with us. Before you decide if you truly want to be with someone like me."

  "What is it?" Mikhail asked gently, his heart aching at the fear in her voice. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and shield her from the memories that haunted her, but he sensed she needed this distance, needed to face whatever she was about to reveal on her own terms.

  Anora stood silently for a moment, her small frame silhouetted against the darkening sky, gathering courage for what came next.

  Anora's trembling fingers found the hem of her dress, slowly drawing the fabric upward to reveal the legacy of her pain. Before Mikhail could react, to spare her this vulnerability, he caught a glimpse of what she had been hiding - a tapestry of cruelty etched into her green skin. Scars, some thin as whispers, others thick and angry, crisscrossed her lower back, buttocks, and thighs like a map of suffering.

  He surged forward, stumbling in his haste to pull her dress down, to protect her from having to expose the wounds, but he was too late. The setting sun painted her scars in stark relief, each one telling its own story of brutality and survival.

  "This is why," Anora whispered, her voice breaking. "This is what they did to me. What I let them do." Her shoulders shook with barely contained sobs as she dropped her dress, it cascading back down and covering her shame. "I know now that we can't... that you couldn't want someone so... so marked. So ruined. I'm just a goblin, not-"

  "Shut up!" Mikhail's voice cracked like thunder in the peaceful clearing, startling her. In a quick stride, he closed the distance between them, his hand gentle but firm as he spun her to face him. His palm cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that had carved a glistening path down her green skin.

  "These scars," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "they don't make you less. They show what you survived."

  "But I should have fought harder," Anora protested, her orange eyes swimming with tears. "I should have-"

  "No," Mikhail cut her off firmly. "It wasn't your fault. None of it. They did this to you. You didn't choose it."

  Another tear slipped down her cheek as she started to argue, but Mikhail silenced her with a kiss. For a moment, Anora froze, caught off guard by the tenderness in his touch. Then, like ice melting in spring sunlight, she softened against him, her small hands clutching at his tunic as if afraid he might disappear.

  The kiss deepened, carrying all the words they couldn't speak - his promise of protection, her growing trust, their shared defiance of a world that said they shouldn't be together. Mikhail's arms encircled her, strong yet gentle, as if she were something precious and rare.

  They sank slowly to the blanket, the stream's song and the whispering leaves their only witnesses. Each kiss felt like a seal on an unspoken vow, each touch a bridge across the chasm of their different worlds. For Anora, this moment marked the final test - proof that Mikhail's love ran deeper than surface beauty, stronger than society's prejudices.

  The setting sun painted them in shades of gold and shadow as they lost themselves in each other, their kisses growing more passionate with each passing moment. Here, in this secluded clearing, they were simply two hearts finding their way to each other, regardless of the scars they carried or the world that waited beyond their sanctuary.

  The late afternoon sun gilded their skin as they came together on the blanket beside the murmuring stream. Mikhail paused, his blue eyes finding Anora's orange ones in a moment of profound connection. "Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and desire.

  Anora gazed up at him, her small green hands framing his face. Years of pain and mistrust melted away beneath the warmth of his loving gaze. "Yes," she breathed, drawing him down into a tender kiss that quickly deepened with shared passion.

  They came together as the sun painted the clearing in shades of amber and gold, their love transcending the boundaries of race and society's prejudices. The stream's gentle song mingled with whispered endearments and soft sighs as they discovered each other with tender exploration and growing wonder.

  As twilight gathered around them, they lay contentedly wrapped in each other's arms, their hearts beating in shared rhythm. The darkening sky above seemed to mirror the depth of their connection, stars beginning to emerge like scattered diamonds across velvet.

  Finally, as the first evening stars appeared, they dressed and mounted Bakule for the journey home. Anora sat before Mikhail, her back pressed against his chest, feeling more complete than she ever had before. His arms encircled her protectively as they rode, both of them savoring the profound shift in their relationship.

  They returned to Cedarcrest as the sun's final rays painted the cedar trees in shades of purple and gold. The city's familiar sounds and smells welcomed them home, though neither noticed much beyond their shared joy. Inside their room at the Axe and Fiddle, they found each other again, their love deepening with each tender touch and whispered word of devotion.

  As they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, both knew that something profound had changed between them. Their bond, already strong, had transformed into something unbreakable - a love powerful enough to defy any obstacle the world might place in their path.

  Would you like to see a NSFW version of the love scene between Mikhail and Anora? If so would you be willing to read it on Patreon? Note: I don't wish to publish it here as there are some that are reading the story and do not wish to have that kind of content and I'm not planning on releasing it in the full book once published. It will be cannon though. I will be upfront about one thing. I intend to put it behind a paywall for only a dollar.