she looked at him deeply in his invested eyes and whispered one final complaint before dressing

"You know, well as I, and my grandmother and every sheep around this bloody castle,
that no soul of Swords merene wants to watch us Cups and kin gallivant our riches
whilst they steal for scraps. And what's the maddest of all, Pudge..."

she could feel her cheeks getting toasty
and the volume rising in her failed whisper

"is we no longer show gratitude to those burning balls of fire that are reaching slumber;
hoping to return on their morrow for our Free Festival:
this laughable consideration of Moveable Feasts!"