<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/87/7a/e2/877ae2a8cb4cf149a7531a31949cc154.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Mael<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Kaen Morhen - Outdoors<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Bella<br/><strong>Wearing</strong>: Grey shirt, leather leggings<br/><hr/><hr/>Leather boots sounded harshly across the stone floors of the steps leading up the tower where the witcher had called his room ever since he had been allowed to do so, graduating from the lowly barracks-like rooms in the basement of the castle where the potential witchers were slept when they weren't training. Being one of the few who had survived the first Trial of the Grasses in a hundred years, he had been given preference to select his portion of the then derelict castle. It had been refurbished over the years as less concentration from the sorceresses had been dedicated to keeping their trainees in check and more on making the place livable.<br/><br/>Mael adjusted his swords at his waist and his unstrung bow on his back, a scowl forming on his handsome featues as he reached the door of his room. True, he had been taught to conceal his emotions, hide them and let them fuel him from the inside. And a great deal of his life before the grasses had been spent with the knowledge that the overwhelming odds lay against him even surviving until the trial. And thus had come a calm that he had learned to apply to various other aspects of his life later. The calm acceptance of inevitable fate while actively and furiously combatting it to his last breath. There were times, Bella had told him, that they ahd thought him for the next life, if there was such a thing. His heart had almost stopped, his cries of agony had faded to almsot silence/ But he had never stopped fighting. Never given up, even when all the world had told him that he should have died a long time before.<br/><br/>He entered the room, his eyes scanning the surroundings with his keen senses. This was a new calm. There was no acceptance to it. Silent fury didn't touch on what he was feeling either. He moved over to the bed, his eyes softening for a moment as he picked up the rose that she had left on his pillow, a sign of truce left along with the missing wine stain on the neatly arranged sheets. But this had been before she had gone downstairs and kissed his brother Conor. This peace offering had been before what many in the world would have seen as a blatant betrayal. He wasn't one of those many, but the image of her locked in embrace with Conor still boiled his blood.<br/><br/>Yes, hte calm was there, but not in it's usual form of the flowing water of acceptance. No, this was the chilling ice cold form of a man trained to keep his emotions in check. And was furiously fighting not to let his rage out on Bella's precious vanity like Arlaine had taken hers out on their poor little dummy in the training room. Let her fix that. The image of him taking his swords to the vanity and leaving the token rose among the shattered remains crossed his mind and left a great deal of pleasure in it's wake. But he wasn't Bellatrix. Petty revenge was never worth it for him... well, that wasn't quite true, or he wouldn't have volunteered his services in finding Arlaine's lost mirror. Getting back at Bella had been on his mind in the offer.<br/><br/>Instead of destroying the piece of furniture, he opted to search through it thoroughly. Bella never bothered placing her things anywhere else in the castle, as it was well known and accepted that Mael and her would be sharing quarters when the both were in Kaer Morhen, or she would be staying in his room when he was away. At least, he assumed. She never spoke of such things at length, and he had never inquired with too much intensity. Either way, her things were in his room and he proceeded to search through them - Starting with the vanity - thoroughly, and not bothering to cover his tracks as he did so. At this point, he really didn't care if she discovered his snooping. If she wanted an explanation, she could look at the lipstick marks she had left on Conor for an answer. He wouldn't deign give her one himself.