Morning light crept slowly through the narrow slits of Dayat's chamber windows. The Orchid-Ether filter within the castle worked in seamless silence, transforming the biting chill of the Forest of Lamentation into a soothing, artificial warmth. Yet, it wasn't the warmth of technology that Dayat felt as he drifted awake—it was the undeniable heat of a body pressed against his chest.
Dola was fast asleep, her long silver hair a chaotic silken mess that obscured half of her face. Her arms were coiled tightly around Dayat's waist, her legs slightly entwined with his, as if she feared her husband might vanish into thin air if she loosened her grip for even a second. Her breath was slow and rhythmic, occasional puffs of warmth hitting Dayat's skin.
Beautiful.
