The poem is long, and Zveran has to pause a few times to wet his throat, but his calm aura does not fade for a moment. 

And then, the poem is done, the lovers parted forever, and Sin unleashed on the world. 

Masque is not overly affected by the ending. Although they are quiet.

"Gil for your thoughts?"

"Life sucks? I don't know."

Not the reply he was expecting, but there is something to be said about beginnings. 

"Very true, and aptly put, but the broader stretch of the poem is beyond the awful things that happen. It is also about the things worth fighting for."

"Guess I haven't found anything worth it yet."

"Life may not have given you a chance before, and for that I would happily throttle it. But it means you are owed something great. Something worthy of you."

Masque hums.

"Perhaps a tragic love affair of your own!"

"Sounds more trouble than it's worth."

"The rewards far outweigh the risks, I assure you."

Snort. "As you say."

"You don't believe me, for shame. Trust that some of the mightiest of beings would fall at their feet for a chance at true, complete, and binding love."

"Perhaps. That doesn't mean I don't think they're fools."

"Oh, to be a fool in love once more. I do miss it."

That gets an eye roll.

"I can't see, but that was very much a scornful rejection. I would be insulted, were I not such a romantic."

"I would never dream of insulting you."

"Oh, I very much doubt that," Zveran says, laughing. "I wouldn't dream of letting you hold yourself back from accurately calling me a fool."

Masque gives a quiet laugh as well.

Zveran laughs with them, a brightness to his eyes-

-and then he remembers why he is doing this, and his countenance sobers.

"We should get some sleep. The temple awaits in the morning."

"-Quite."

Zveran settles against his pack, and is asleep in moments.

Masque settles down as well. Whether they sleep is harder to tell.