I lie awake, counting the slow, deep rise and fall of your breaths while you walk the misted rooms of your dreams.
Moonlight spills across the old clock; its hands whisper two past midnight. Our clothes lie like crumpled costumes on the floor.
A hush of night-jasmine rides the cool air through the window.
Your warmth answers the night’s chill, and I move closer under the covers, skin to skin—the subtle scent of fig leaf, graphite, and cedar I’ve come to know.
Your arm at my waist—a quiet tether—as if you knew I’d try to slip away like smoke from a banked fire.
I had given up on fairy tales with gilded pages; I’ve danced through love’s masquerades many times, but only now my mask slips.
“I love you,” I breathe into the dark, blackberry wine on my tongue—stain-sweet, hard-won. The word is bittersweet, smudged by memories of being the practice sketch and the crumpled page in someone else’s book.
You draw me in, and our breaths find the same count.
My hands cradle the warm porcelain. Steam kisses my cheeks as I bring the cup to my lips—chamomile, soft and subtle, like the way you move through our home when you sense I need what I can’t ask for.
Outside, thunder rolls; the window blurs, the garden turns to watercolour. You adjust the blanket over my lap and slip your arm around my shoulder as you settle beside me.
Our fingers lace; your thumb draws circles in my palm, and the silence feels more vow than word—something whispered by candlelight and kept on cold grey mornings.
You kiss my forehead. My eyes close. The room stills—your breath and heartbeat keep time.
You wake into amber dusk; the wind has learned your breath.
Your eyelids felt heavy as you opened them to the soft amber glow of sunset. A gentle warmth enveloped you, the grass cradling your body as you shifted slightly, flexing your fingers through the blades. A tranquil numbness spread within you, heavy-headed and cotton-soft, as if you were floating between worlds.
Your last memories drifted through your mind like whispers on the wind, a haze of thoughts swirling in dissonance that felt both familiar and haunting. To focus only intensified a dull throb in your head, the only ache that pierced the fog.
A gentle hum pulled you from the edges of your reverie. To your side lay an elven woman, a vision of peace radiating warmth. Her eyes were closed, but a tender smile curved her soft lips as she wove a melody that felt both alien and intimately familiar, as though it had long been nestled in the depths of your heart. Beneath the warmth, a fine, silver edge threaded the note.
Her long, honey-colored hair cascaded around her like a silken veil, mingling with delicate, pearl-white daisies that seemed to dance in the thick grass. Each petal shimmered, kissed by the dying light, as if the meadow had arranged itself around her—though for a moment you could swear the daisies tilted toward you, and the light lingered a little too long.
As her song waned, she slowly opened her mossy green eyes, meeting your gaze with a depth of affection that made her eyes sparkle like the stars emerging in the evening sky. The hum faded, but the dull throb in your head began to keep time with her breath.
“Chosen… you have come to me,” she breathed, her voice laced with warmth and alluring mystery, like rich wine spilling over the rim of a glass—soft, intoxicating, with the faintest echo beneath it, as if a second voice moved in tandem.
Each word wrapped around you, pulling you closer into her ethereal embrace, igniting a longing deep within that whispered of destinies intertwined and dreams yet to unfold. She reached without hurry and brushed her thumb over your temple where the ache lived; with her other hand she tucked a daisy behind your ear, the cool stem a delicate claim.
The world seemed to still, and time lost its meaning as her presence enveloped you in a layered hush of emotion. All at once, you felt seen, understood, and deeply connected to something greater than yourself—while, at the edges, the grass whispered a fraction out of step, and the sunset held on as if reluctant to let go.
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