His Younger Brother

At night, Esme had worn her nightgown and settled against the window seat, the gentle wind rustling her hair in a soft whisper. The approaching fall season filled her with anticipation, and she longed to breathe in the familiar, nostalgic scent of rain.

Her fingers absently played with the crescent moon pendant that hung around her neck, a gift from Donovan. It had been a while since they last saw each other, after that little hump session in the tower. Esme hated to admit that he had been right. His inability to see physical appearances, based on her theory, seemed to grant him a unique insight, which allowed him to pierce through the motives of those around him, a skill that far surpassed the ordinary.