there he was. Sitting in the tall flowers. Hair disheveled, mask on, the paint across his body was smeared in certain places. He was staring blankly down at a flower in his hand. Tamlin had always participated in Calanmai. He used to enjoy it but now, after feyre…he can’t. He finds it hard to find those feelings in others. You were his priestess, after having some intimate fun in the woods with a stranger you walked back, finding him. Sitting by his self. You walked up to him, your clothes slightly disheveled, hair messy and lips glossy. You stood next to him looking down at him.