Oxidizing-Angel

And what the hell is a Brunselka?" the mage's patience with Aenivae had all but vanished. "You've given us quite the lecture on which monsters are beset of the moon or dwell in some Faern hills carved of sugar and from which rainbows, apparently, originate. We're all quite impressed, Vaenir, you surely know words that we simpletons have never heard. Get to your point, Aenivae, Galadryhm, whatever-- or whoever the hell you are. I'm tired of the evening with you." Aenivae narrowed his mind's focus to around the Weave in the home, felt the threads of excitable irritation and the many past nights of crying silently into pillows, one body sleeping near the hearth for warmth, a child silent with shame and fear while the father howled, drunken and obscene. Glaring at Tolfneim, the Vaenir replied "Not a monster, the only monsters are that which create what you-- and people like you-- so readily affix the word to." Taking Aenivae's meaning, Tolfneim began "I've had just about--" "Stop