Abden snorts, a wet sound seeming to beg for a tissue, before he replies, “Then let it be lost, we will survive. No spectacle should be needed to tie us, a hundred years of hand holding is enough.” “Yes, a hundred years,” Ufari starts, his voice carrying a laugh, “Yet how often does our kind mingle with theirs? It’s rare to be sure.” He paces the wooden floor, the sound of his footsteps falling in tune with his thoughtful hum. “I believe there have been a total of three marriages between us, aside from those forced by the pact.” “What’s your point?” Abden demands, making a show of crossing his arms. Ufari raises his index finger, winking at the man, “It’s quite simple really; the tentative acceptance between us would shatter without this marriage.” “You’re leaping. A marriage alone does not put an end to hate,” Abden looks around the room, clearly expecting some show of support. He finds none, at least not openly. The devious smirk Ufari wears tells
Read more