Elf To Tame A Werewolf
Another note plays out as she hits another solemn key, and I tilt my head, trying to place the song she's begun.
I give up when her voice cuts across the bar, as charming and pleasant as dripping honey. I feel my drink slipping from my grasp, but all I can think of, is the woman singing in the most beautiful voice I've heard.
'Old man came from fighting, faint and weary. What does ail my Lord, my dearie?
Oh, lover, my dear, let my bed be made.
For I feel the grip of the devil, the stroke of his cane.
Many a man would die as soon, but none by the touches of a maiden's coo. Under the light of the elven stars, let love be made. Hey, it's not by blade, not by bone can break the magic that the de
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