Hi guys!
I’m heading to Paris for a week of holiday with the boy so I won’t be posting or commenting for the next week. I’m pretty excited since the boy hasn’t been before and I am keen to show him all my favourite places. Also I am looking forward to the pain au chocolat breakfasts.
Here’s a pic for entertainments sake… what it would be like if they only lived in Paris (well, sort of… it was the best I could do in a short time).
Au revoir mes amis, simming heureux (or so sayeth babelfish… ignore if translation is bad 
31st October 1102
Despite the occasional cool breeze twining around Igrayne’s body like the breath of a lost soul, the party was remarkably cosy. They were seated around the heavy wooden table, lovingly notched together by Noah’s steady hands. Although the world around was dark and forbidding, they had created a small pocket of warmth and conviviality within the radius of the light from the dancing flames.
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So, for a bit of Christmas fun I decided to shrink some of my characters back to their child states and see what they looked like. Pretty cute actually
Here are the results:
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31st October 1102
Igrayne plunged her hands into the steaming water. They slid below the surface, hidden momentarily beneath a haze of steam. When they reappeared she could see them magnified, pink and chapped from years of hard work. She was unpleasantly reminded that they were not hands becoming of a lady’s maid. Perhaps she had risen above her status as scullion, but the rough skin on her hands would never let her forget from where she had come.
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31st October, 1102
Igrayne rounded the corner in time to see Polina launching her swollen body at Arran.
“Arran love!”, she cried slightly too enthusiastically, “Happy Birthday!”
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31st October 1102
“Yew really think so?” he smiled at her tentatively, “I mean, I’ve always been sayin’ so myself an’ Noah, he agrees but we never had the chance to ask a ladies opinion before now”.
His face glowed pink, the afternoon light suffusing his skin with a healthy glow Igrayne had scarcely seen. Had he always been this pale and wan? His freckles stood out amongst the pallid skin of his face like mud flecks floating on the surface of the milk pail, splattered from a hoof kicked up in irritation. She tried to recall the Arran of old but she could never reach further back than a skinny, gangly boy hiding behind his unruly hair and his stutter.
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