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When he finally played out his destiny:
There was no raging storm of emotion and indecision.
...well there was, but it was quenched with a kiss.
There was no fight, no weapons drawn.
...well there were, but a brutally soft squeeze took care of that.
There was no ‘this is wrong’ or feeble protests, murmured against skin.
...well there was, but not until she accepted her fate, not until she realised there was no need to fight.
There was no crying of his name.
...well there was, but only once, and only as she fell…
“Lyle, stop! I'm your sister!”