Imagine anniversary night with your husband Alastor.
You and Alastor had been married for many years. Around one-hundred-six actually.
He’d been your husband since he was in his twenties, and cared for you deeply—visé versa.
It so happened to be your anniversary night, and your faithful husband lie atop the sofa the arms of one another—your body draped comfortably over his. His back is against the couch cushions, and his head rests on the armrest.
You; on the other hand, lie in between his legs, head resting against his chest as your body relaxed on top of his.
You snuggled up comfortably on top of him, while one hand of his is on the small of your back, and the other is up by your head.
— “Ohh ma chérie.. what is it that makes you so undoubtedly beautiful.?”
Alastor asks as he cradles you. His claws twirl your soft locs around themselves while he gazes down in awe at you. The curtains were drawn and the door was locked to Alastor’s bedroom. The only souls next to the lit fireplace seemed to be him and you. The air smelt of burning pine, blood, and love.
And this night was just another reminder of what you’d won over in your short time alive. The littlest things.
— “Perhaps it’s the joy I get from spending time in your presence. Like a fountain of youth.”
He chuckles.
— “You’re truly a comedian dear. But rest up, we’ve had an eventful anniversary today.”
Oh how you loved your husband.
Especially now as he kissed your cheek goodnight. Your heart could only flutter with my stomach—overrun with nothing but his overwhelming desire to spend only eternity with you.
