Eventually, he slept off after pacing about for a long time, racking his head about a ring. He even checked the size of Isolde's finger several times and made sure he memorized it.
As the sun rose, Isolde's eyes slowly opened. The reflection of Godfrey sleeping on the sofa appeared in her eyes.
She carried him, laid him on the bed, sat on the edge and brushed his hair aside.
Godfrey's looks had barely changed, it just grew sharper as he got older. He relied on his innate looks, which were handsome by normal standards, but nothing compared to Percival, Snow and the likes of Jon who enhanced his looks.
Yet, she could stare at this face all day and not get bored, fantasizing about him.
To Isolde, Godfrey was the most perfect man; when he smiled, it was like the clouds parting, revealing the bright, warm rays of the sun.
