[PART 2] “Imagine being imprisoned in the Mirkwood dungeons and having the proud prince of the Silvan elves present you with secret little gifts every day.”
This is a sequel to my previous drabble, which can be found here.
Countless nights you spent alone, longing to catch a glimpse of the prince once again. The only signs of his presence were the little gifts that you discovered beside you each morning. Before long, you grew tired of these gifts. All you felt was a hunger for conversation that the dungeon guards were unwilling to satisfy. On the fourteenth night of your imprisonment, the gifts stopped coming altogether, and you feared that he had forgotten you.