I admire how shes taken to domesticity, how she’s taken to the life of a farmer and a married woman. Although she proposed to me, I feared she wouldn’t take well to life on the surface. Being from the Underdark, and a Drow, she is not well-suited to life on the surface. Despite this, she insists that she would rather burn up here than go back to her homeland. I understand it is not a place she holds fondness for, despite having spent several of her thirty-five years there.

However, she is dedicated to life we are beginning to build. As per my request, we have a cottage and a barn with animals. Chickens, two cows, some horses, a small flock of sheep, a herding dog and a cat. Our property is reasonably large, and a river runs through it. Everyday, she’s up with the sun. The horses and cows are turned out, and the sheep are driven out into the field behind the barn, to be guarded by our hound- a large sheepdog with one hell of a bite she has lovingly Christened Ranger.

Next, are the chickens. She collects the day’s fresh eggs and brings them inside for breakfast. Then, usually deciding I have slept enough, I am roused. Typically with kisses, sometimes with a pinch if I’m unresponsive. Then I make breakfast while she goes out to feed and water the animals. The sheep will graze all day, but the chickens, horses, and cows all require grain. We trade off labour, as she is most productive in the morning and I am most productive at night.

This morning, I am roused with kisses. I am drawn from the warm embrace of sleep into her embrace, chapped lips gently brushing my eyelids, cheeks, nose, chin and mouth. Today, she allows me to hide from the sun in her arms for a few moments, face buried in the pillow of her chest. She often says little, but she opens her mouth to speak. “Dearest, you cannot hide from the day.” She says, voice low and raspy- with just a tinge of that Drow accent, one she attempts to hide.

I know I cannot hide from the day, but gods I wish I could. She pulls away with a final kiss to my forehead and draws herself up to her full height. She exits our cottage, and I dress. I make my way to the kitchen and smile, seeing she has started the fireplace in the living room to warm our home, and has thrown logs into the cast-iron stove. I decide upon eggs, biscuits, a bowl of blackberries I grew, and sausage for breakfast. She comes in again just as I am finishing up, going straight to the sink. She washes her hands up to her elbows and splashes water on her face, before grabbing a biscuit and biting into it, frowning and pulling my wedding ring from her mouth.