Mirror, mirror, who's the fairest of them all

Among his daughters he held no spoken preference, and truthfully, he harbored no direct favorite either. There were those that showed their face more than the others, and naturally, earned his trust a bit easier. He counted more on one than the other--but their stance in that position was constantly changing. They were each very diverse in their personalities, and yet, they were just alike enough to clash perfectly. Syrinx held a particularly beautiful desire to see them thrive, even when they were at each others necks. He had an obscure method of showing them this, but that was fine. They all knew these odd things about their patriarch. he was no man of emotion and would not attempt to be as such. Not for them--he couldn't. If he showed them more than mild affection they would grow soft, and especially recently, they had only been shown a world that the soft died in.

she came to him.

"Sevan," the russet prince would rise from where he lay and move towards her--to close the distance between them and attempt to wrap his skull around her neck and shower her in his arduous display. To show her affection was one thing, but his touch was something far beyond emotions. It was so flawlessly bereft of them, and yet compelling in its warmth that it only offered firmness and hope without being excessively grotesque in design. Syrinx was a tool of war--but what he crafted from his loins were even better off.