Walking into her living quarters, Rozemyne freezes in her tracks; Hannelore's embroidering, fingers moving deftly, her face a moue of pure concentration. Rozemyne's knight clatters into the room behind her, drawing Hannelore's attention; those beautiful hands still, quickly moving to hide away her work, and Rozemyne's face burns as she stammers an apology and beats a hasty retreat. How on earth is she supposed to get through a whole afternoon of meetings when all she can see is those hands, when she knows her wife is sewing her cloak?
[Context for fandom-blind readers: In this world, brides sew protective charms into their spouse's clock. It's a lovey-dovey newlywed activity.]
Ascendance of a Bookworm, Rozemyne/Hannelore, sewing her cloak
Walking into her living quarters, Rozemyne freezes in her tracks; Hannelore's embroidering, fingers moving deftly, her face a moue of pure concentration. Rozemyne's knight clatters into the room behind her, drawing Hannelore's attention; those beautiful hands still, quickly moving to hide away her work, and Rozemyne's face burns as she stammers an apology and beats a hasty retreat. How on earth is she supposed to get through a whole afternoon of meetings when all she can see is those hands, when she knows her wife is sewing her cloak?
[Context for fandom-blind readers: In this world, brides sew protective charms into their spouse's clock. It's a lovey-dovey newlywed activity.]