The grand parlor of the Iron-Wood Manor looked as though a hurricane had just touched down directly on top of the woven rugs.
Cushions were strewn haphazardly across the floorboards. A heavy side table had been completely overturned, and a few stray illusory butterflies Ren had conjured earlier were glitching frantically near the ceiling.
A heavy, synchronized sound of collective, ragged panting filled the air.
Everyone was slumped down in the living room, completely and utterly spent.
Ren was sprawled uncharacteristically flat on his back near the stone hearth, his chest heaving. The Fox King's usually pristine, perfectly styled, vibrant red hair was a bird's nest, sticking up in every conceivable direction.
Syris was slumped against the arm of the sofa, his elegant green robes rumpled and his long dark green hair thoroughly tangled. Tanith had woken up halfway and came to sit down on his thighs, clapping and giggling.
