β
β β She dared not think of him ever leaving. Penelope holds the mirror to her chest, lips pressed tight together.
β I suppose it cannot be helped then. I would rather you stay, always. β
β
βNonsense. I have no use for a farm. I am perfectly content just enjoying the view from afar. This blanket is perfect for cold nights.β
And the day may very well come that he may not be able to return to it.
β
β β Well. Penelope felt as though her gift did not compare to such a lovely thing ββ
Gentle in how she held it, she quickly said:
β I believe this is unfair. I shall give you a farm. β
β
How thoughtful. Appreciatively, he admires the blanket, a small smile on his lips.
βThank you, my queen. I have something for you as well.β
He holds out a handheld mirror of polished bronze, an engravement of olive leaves running over its back.