Today’s Word: Voluminous
Sometimes the vagaries of war were such that the Queen retreated to her winter home in Briston, where the cold, foggy air and voluminous snow could invigorate her spirits. But in the year of '73, when the Archduke of Imprenes, Lord Terrinval, sacked the lady's capital of Breninvair, and took her country at the tip of sword and flame of torch, the Queen retreated to her winter home with every intention of finding death upon the columned terrace.
What she found was Lord Terrinval himself, and he certainly didn't LOOK like death, in his dashing black military waistcoat, pure white hose, tricorne cap, and three flashing golden suns upon each shoulder – representations of his rank as supreme commander of the Overan armies. Nor did this man dressed in black carry a shearing scythe. Instead, Lord Terrinval came bearing a ring and a crown – a crown that matched her own.
After the years of her youth had bled away, and with her womanhood sitting upon her brow and bosom like a mantle of burnished brass, the Queen finally knew what it was to be conquered.
It was love.