17. The Language of Being
17
The Language of Being
Ren
The room tilted slightly as I sat back on the sofa, my hand still holding Dorian’s, as if that simple connection could steady me. My breath came in quick, shallow pulls, the aftermath of that kiss leaving me reeling in a way I hadn’t expected.
Dorian’s presence felt like a soft weight at my side, grounding me, his gaze gentle yet intense as he watched me. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, slow and steady, like he was waiting for me to catch up with myself. I swallowed, trying to calm the erratic pulse in my chest.
“You all right?” he asked, his voice low and warm, laced with concern.
I nodded, offering him a small smile that felt a little shaky. “Yeah... Just... a little dizzy, that’s all.”
He didn’t pull away, didn’t give me space to hide. Instead, he shifted closer, his thigh brushing mine, and my body reacted before my mind could catch up. I was still dizzy, still disoriented, but in the best possible way.
Dorian’s fingers gently tilted my chin toward him, his eyes soft but searching. “Take your time,” he murmured, leaning in as if to kiss me again, but instead pausing just close enough to feel his breath against my lips.
I held my breath, every nerve ending on alert, waiting. Dorian's breath lingered against my lips, and it made my skin tingle, my body awake in ways I hadn’t fully understood before. He didn’t rush. He never did. There was something about the way he moved, deliberate and patient, as if time itself could bend to the rhythm of our moments together.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered, his voice softer now, more like a murmur than words meant for the air. His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch light and casual, but somehow more intimate than anything I’d felt before.
I nodded, my hands still clinging to his. I couldn’t explain the trembling, the pull in my chest that had nothing to do with the dizziness. It was something deeper, something more terrifying, but also... welcome. “I’m not used to this,” I said, my voice catching. “Being close to someone like this.”
He leaned in, brushing his lips over my forehead. “You don’t have to be used to it, Ren. Not with me.”
The words settled into me, sinking in like an anchor. My heart skipped, then calmed, as if my body finally trusted this moment enough to let go. And when he kissed me again, it was slow, tentative at first, letting me adjust to the feeling of his mouth on mine, to the weight of his presence in this small, quiet space between us.
I shifted, my hands moving instinctively, tracing the lines of his shirt, the warmth of his skin beneath. Dorian let me, didn’t rush or make me feel like I had to know exactly what I was doing. He simply guided me, his lips parting gently against mine, his hand coming to rest on my back, fingers spread, offering a steady pressure that made me feel safe.
Dorian's lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate, sending sparks down my spine. Our magic surged between us, death magic recognizing death magic in ways that made the air shimmer with silver light.
I leaned into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself in the solid warmth of his body. The world narrowed to the slide of his mouth, the gentle pressure of his hand on my back, the dizzying scent of his skin.
I let myself sink into the sensations, let them wash over me like a tide. Dorian's tongue traced the seam of my lips and I parted them on instinct, a small sound escaping me as he deepened the kiss. It was a slow, thorough exploration, like he was mapping every inch of my mouth, committing it to memory.
I traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, marveling at the way his muscles shifted beneath my touch. Dorian made a soft, approving sound, his fingers flexing against my back, urging me closer.
I went willingly, dizzy with want, until I was practically in his lap. And then I felt it—the hard, insistent press of his arousal against my thigh.
I froze, uncertainty dousing the heat in my veins like a bucket of ice water. What was I supposed to do now? What did Dorian expect from me? I had no idea how to navigate this, how to be the kind of man who could satisfy him and give him what he needed.
As if sensing my sudden hesitation, Dorian pulled back slightly, his hands coming up to frame my face. His green eyes were soft, filled with a gentle understanding that made my heart ache. “Ren,” he murmured, thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “Remember that we don't have to do anything you're not ready for. We move at your pace.”
I swallowed, leaning into his touch, letting it ground me. “I want to,” I whispered, the words sticking in my throat. “I just... I don't know what to do. I mean, I do. I know how. Sort of. In theory.” I averted my eyes, unable to meet Dorian's steady gaze. “I'm sorry. I'm ruining this, aren't I?”
Dorian's fingers gently tilted my chin back up, forcing me to look at him. There was no judgment in his eyes, only a soft, patient understanding. “You're not ruining anything, Ren. This is new for you. It's okay to be unsure, to need time to figure it out.”
He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to my lips. “We'll take this slow. I want you to be comfortable, to feel good. That's all that matters to me.”
I let out a shaky breath, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. Dorian always seemed to know exactly what to say, how to calm the anxious flutter in my chest. “Okay,” I whispered, managing a small smile. “Slow. I can do that.”
Dorian smiled, a soft, private thing that made my heart flutter. His hands slid down my arms, fingers intertwining with mine, and he brought our joined hands to rest on his thighs. “Is there anywhere you don’t want me to touch, Ren?” he asked quietly, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles. “Anything that feels off-limits?”
I bit my lip, feeling the weight of the question. It was kind, but still hard to answer. “My chest,” I said after a beat, my voice small but firm. “I’m not ready for that yet.”
There was a glint in his eye, a hint of something deeper, more intense, but it was gone before I could fully process it. For now, Dorian seemed content to let me set the pace, to let me grow comfortable with this new intimacy between us.
Dorian nodded, giving my hands a gentle squeeze. “Of course. We'll avoid anything that makes you uncomfortable.” He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against mine in a way that made me smile despite my nerves. “I want you to enjoy this, whatever that may look like for you.”
My heart skipped at the implication in his words, the promise of pleasure. I swallowed, gathering my courage, and shifted closer until our chests were nearly flush. “I want that too.”
Dorian's eyes darkened, his pupils dilating. “Then let me show you,” he breathed, and captured my mouth in a searing kiss that stole the air from my lungs.
This kiss was different from before, hungrier, more urgent. Dorian's tongue delved deep, stroking against mine in a slick slide that made me shiver. I kissed him back just as fiercely, emboldened by the low groan he let out when I nipped at his bottom lip.
We sank back into the couch cushions, our bodies aligning from chest to hip. I could feel every inch of Dorian's lean, hard frame pressing into me and it made my head spin in the best way. His hands roamed my back, fingertips digging in when I tentatively rocked my hips against his.
Dorian's hands slid lower, cupping my hips and pulling me more firmly against him. I gasped into his mouth at the sensation, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing insistently into my thigh. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once, to feel the evidence of his desire, to know I was the cause of it.
Emboldened by Dorian's obvious want, I let my own hands wander, tracing the lean lines of his torso through the thin fabric of his shirt. I could feel the heat of his skin, the tantalizing shift of muscle beneath my fingertips. When I brushed over a nipple, Dorian's breath hitched, his hips rocking up to meet mine in a slow, deliberate grind.
“That's it,” he murmured against my lips, his voice a low rumble that I felt all the way to my toes. “Touch me, Ren. I want to feel your hands on me.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine, a heady mix of nerves and excitement. I did as he asked, my hands sliding under his shirt to map the smooth expanse of his back, the dips and planes of his shoulder blades. Dorian arched into the touch like a cat, a pleased hum vibrating through his chest.
Feeling daring, I let my fingers dip just beneath the waistband of his trousers, skimming along the sensitive skin there.
Dorian made an approving noise, his hands tightening on my hips. “Yes, just like that,” he breathed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. I let my fingers trace along the edge of his waistband, marveling at the contrast between the smooth fabric and his heated skin.
With a sinuous roll of his body, Dorian captured my hand in his and guided it slowly up his chest, letting me feel the lean, hard planes of his abdomen, the curves of his pectoral muscles. My breath hitched as he dragged our joined hands over his nipple, showing me how he liked to be touched.
“You can be rougher if you’d like,” he murmured, his voice a low purr in my ear. “I like a little pain with my pleasure.” He punctuated his words by nipping at my earlobe, making me gasp.
I swallowed. “But what if I—”
“I promise you there is nothing in this world that you could do right now to make me not want you, Ren.”
I followed his lead, my fingers trembling slightly as I pinched his nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt, rolling the hardened nub between my fingers. Dorian groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against mine. The deep, needy sound spurred me on, and with more confidence, I let my other hand join in, exploring the contours of his torso, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric.
Dorian’s hand gently caught my wrist. “Ren,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with desire. “Are you okay to keep going?”
The tenderness in his words grounded me, and I nodded quickly. “I’m okay,” I whispered, my breath shallow, my body humming with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. I wanted more. More of him.
“Good,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, the words carrying a hint of mischief. “Would you like to see more of me?” His voice was wicked, full of temptation, and it made my toes curl with anticipation.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. Dorian watched me through hooded eyes, his breathing growing heavier with each inch of skin I revealed.
When the last button slipped free, I pushed the fabric aside, letting it pool around his elbows. I swallowed hard, taking in the sight of Dorian's bare chest. He was lean and sculpted, with a light dusting of dark red hair trailing down his sternum and over the firm planes of his stomach. His skin was smooth and warm under my tentative touch, the muscles jumping slightly as I explored.
“You're beautiful,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. A faint blush crept up Dorian's neck at the compliment, and he caught my hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to my palm.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, guiding my hand back to his chest. “I want to feel your hands on my skin.”
With his encouragement, I let my fingers comb through the soft hair on his chest, marveling at the texture. I traced the line of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse jump beneath my touch. Slowly, I worked my way down, circling his nipples with the pads of my fingers until they pebbled and hardened.
Dorian's breathy moan spurred me on, making my own arousal throb insistently between my legs. I could feel the ache of desire, the slick wetness gathering at my core. It was still so new, so overwhelming, to want someone this much, to feel my body responding so eagerly to every touch and caress.
I let my hands roam lower, over the ridges of Dorian's abs, feeling them contract under my curious fingers. When I reached the waistband of his trousers, I paused, my heart hammering against my ribs. Dorian's hips canted up slightly, a silent plea, and I could see the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric.
Spurred on by his response, by the fire in my own veins, I cupped him through his trousers, feeling the hot, hard length of him against my palm. Dorian groaned, his head falling back against the couch cushions, exposing the long column of his throat.
“Ren,” he breathed, my name sounding like a prayer on his lips. “That feels so good...”
Pride and excitement mingled in my chest, making me dizzy. I was doing this to him, making him feel this way. Me, awkward, uncertain Ren, reducing the poised and perfect Dorian Crowe to a panting, needy mess.
Something shifted in me then, a flicker of confidence, of boldness I hadn't known I possessed. With a surge of daring, I increased the pressure of my hand, rubbing my palm along the rigid length of Dorian's arousal. He let out a choked gasp, his hips bucking up into my touch, seeking more friction.
As Dorian’s breath quickened, I found myself becoming more attuned to the rhythm of his reactions, the way his body responded to my touch. My heart raced in my chest, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling inside me. I’d never felt this way before.
His hands gripped my wrist, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of my inner forearm, grounding me in the moment. “Ren,” he gasped, his voice strained, “you’re driving me mad...”
His vulnerability, the way he was letting me in, opened something inside me. Something I hadn’t realized I needed to hear, that I could affect him this way, too.
I hesitated for a second, my breath shallow as I took in the sight of him: his flushed face, lips parted in pleasure, the muscles of his throat flexing with every ragged breath. I wanted to give him more, to push further, but something held me back, a quiet reminder of how new this all was, how much I was still figuring out.
His eyes locked onto mine, dark and heavy with desire. “Are you okay?” Dorian’s voice was soft but with a hint of concern, like he was checking in with me, making sure I wasn’t lost in the heat of the moment.
I nodded, my hand still pressed against him, but I could feel a slight tremble in my fingers. “Yeah,” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice, thick with wanting. “I’m okay. I want this.”
Dorian’s lips curved into a soft, almost relieved smile, his hands reaching for my face, cupping my cheeks gently. “You’re sure? We can slow down if you need to.”
There was something in the way he seemed so attuned to me, so patient that made my chest tighten. I knew I could trust him, that I didn’t have to rush, that I could take it at my own pace.
I leaned into his touch, giving him a reassuring smile, my breath still shaky but my heart more certain than before. “I want to keep going.”
Dorian’s expression shifted then, becoming more intense, more focused. He leaned forward, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “You’re incredible, Ren. Just tell me if you ever need to stop.”
The tenderness in his words settled my nerves, and I nodded again, a small, self-assured smile tugging at my lips. My confidence was still fragile, but with Dorian, I felt safe enough to explore, to let go.
With slow, deliberate movements, Dorian guided my hand, shifting it lower, showing me how to touch him in a way that made him groan, his hips jerking instinctively. His breath was ragged, his control slipping with each stroke of my fingers.
“Fuck, Ren,” he groaned, and I felt my pulse race at the sound of his voice, raw and needy. “You have no idea how good you’re making me feel.”
I swallowed hard, my own arousal simmering as his hands guided mine, showing me how to give him pleasure, how to make him feel wanted. Every touch felt like a revelation, each moment a new piece of the puzzle, teaching me what felt right.
With every stroke of my fingers, I could feel Dorian’s control slipping, the tension in his body betraying his attempts to hold back. The sound of his groans, low and desperate, stirred something deep in me, a need to give him more, to see just how far I could push him. Each gasp he made fed my own desire, deepening the connection between us in ways I couldn’t fully explain.
But beneath the rush of heat and the thrill of learning his body, something else began to bloom in my chest. A surge of courage. I wanted more than this. I wanted him to touch me.
I swallowed hard, my own breath coming in shallow bursts. The feeling of his hand on mine, showing me how to touch him, was both overwhelming and electrifying. But I knew it wasn’t enough. Not for me, not for him.
My hand stilled on Dorian and I drew in a shaky breath, gathering my courage. I reached for his wrist, my fingers circling the warm skin and feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath. Slowly, tentatively, I guided his hand lower, past the waistband of my jeans until his palm rested against the juncture of my thighs.
Dorian's eyes widened slightly, his lips parting in a silent gasp. “Ren?” he breathed, a question and a plea all in one.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Instead, I pressed his hand more firmly against me, letting him feel the heat of my arousal even through the layers of fabric. A soft whimper escaped my throat at the contact, the pressure both a relief and a torment.
Dorian's fingers flexed, cupping me through my jeans. The sensation sent sparks racing up my spine, my hips canting forward of their own accord. He watched me intently, his gaze dark and heated as he slowly, deliberately, rubbed his palm against me.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Tell me what you need, Ren.”
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “More,” I managed, the word coming out as a needy rasp. “I need... I need to feel you.”
Dorian's eyes locked onto mine, dark with desire but also with a hint of surprise. His fingers brushed tentatively over the hard nub of my cock through my boxer briefs, making me gasp. It felt so different from my own touch, electric and thrilling.
“Show me,” Dorian murmured, his voice low and husky. “Show me how you like to be touched.”
My heart pounded as I guided his hand beneath the waistband, skin finally meeting skin. Dorian inhaled sharply as his fingers encountered my most intimate parts for the first time—the small, stiff shaft straining upwards and the slick opening below.
I let out a shaky breath as Dorian's fingers explored me, each delicate touch sending sparks dancing across my skin. He circled the sensitive head of my cock, rubbing gently at first, then with more pressure. The sensation was intense, almost too much, making me gasp and squirm against him.
“Like this?” Dorian murmured, his breath hot against my ear. He flicked his thumb over the tip in firm circles.
I nodded frantically, not trusting my voice. Dorian seemed to understand my wordless plea. He kept his touch firm as he massaged the shaft, rolling it between his fingers. The pressure was exquisite, just this side of painful in the best possible way. I could feel the tension building low in my belly, coiling tighter with each stroke.
But it wasn't enough. I needed more.
With trembling hands, I guided Dorian's fingers lower, past my cock to the wet opening beneath. “You can touch here too.”
Emboldened by his praise, I pressed his fingers more insistently against me, showing him without words what I craved. Dorian was a quick study. He circled my opening with a teasing touch before slowly, carefully slipping one long finger inside.
I gasped as Dorian's finger slid inside me. The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever felt before—fuller, warmer, more intimate than the slim vibrator I'd experimented with in the past.
“Oh god,” I whimpered, my hips rocking instinctively, trying to take him deeper.
Dorian groaned, his other hand gripping my hip to steady me. “Easy, love. Let yourself adjust.”
He held still, letting me grow accustomed to the stretch, the delicious ache of being filled. After a moment, he began to move, pumping his finger slowly in and out.
The sensation of Dorian's finger moving inside me was exquisite torture, stoking the fire in my veins to a roaring blaze. Our magic sparked and danced between us, creating patterns of silver light that spiraled around our bodies like living constellations. Each touch seemed to amplify the connection. The air grew thick with power, making even breathing feel like an act of magic.
“That's it, Ren,” Dorian murmured, his voice rough with desire. “You're doing so well, taking me so beautifully.”
His praise washed over me, making me feel cherished and sexy all at once. Emboldened, I reached for him, my fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers to wrap around the hot, hard length of his cock.
Dorian groaned, his hips bucking into my touch. “Squeeze tighter. Gods, yes. Like that. Feels so good…”
Together, we found a rhythm, stroking and caressing each other in tandem. Dorian slipped a second finger inside me and I moaned into his lips.
“Dorian,” I whimpered, hardly recognizing my own voice, breathy and needy. My hand tightened around his length, feeling it throb and twitch against my palm.
Dorian's other hand tangled in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat. He peppered kisses along my throat before letting out a deep, guttural groan. “Ren... I'm... I can't hold back much longer,” he panted against my neck. “If you don’t stop…”
But I was too lost in sensation to fully process his words. The coil in my belly was winding tighter and tighter, my body squeezing around his fingers. I needed more, needed him to push me over that precipice. “Please,” I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for. “Dorian, please...”
I thought I was going to die if he didn’t do… something .
He seemed to understand my wordless plea. Dorian's fingers curled inside me, pressing against a spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. At the same time, his thumb circled my cock, rubbing the sensitive head in firm, deliberate strokes. The dual sensations were overwhelming. I could barely breathe, let alone think.
“That's it, love,” Dorian murmured, his voice strained with his own impending release. “Let go. Let it happen.”
His words were my undoing. With a choked cry, I shattered, my body convulsing around his fingers as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over me. Our magic exploded around us in a shower of silver sparks, like stars falling from the heavens. For a moment, I could feel every thread of magic that connected us, every pulse of energy that flowed between our bodies. It was like seeing the very fabric of reality, woven from strands of light and shadow, life and death, all coming together in perfect harmony.
The cottage's wards flared in response, creating a dome of protective magic around us as if sheltering this sacred moment. I clung to Dorian, my face buried in his neck, riding out the most intense orgasm of my life.
Through the haze of pleasure, I was dimly aware of Dorian's desperate whimpers, his hips jerking erratically into my hand. His cock pulsed and throbbed against my palm, and then he was coming with a hoarse shout, his release spurting hot and wet over my fingers.
I stroked him through it, marveling at the way his body tensed and shuddered, at the utterly wrecked expression on his handsome face. He looked younger like this, vulnerable and unguarded, and it made my heart clench with a feeling I wasn't ready to name.
For a long moment, we just held each other, trembling and panting in the aftermath. Dorian pressed soft, reverent kisses to my hair, my forehead, my cheeks. I could feel his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my palm, in time with my own.
A sense of calm settled over me, bone-deep contentment unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It wasn't just the physical release, though that had been mind-blowing. It was the emotional connection, the sense of being seen and accepted and cherished, just as I was.
I gradually became aware of our surroundings again. Bones had tactfully retreated to his basket by the fire, though I could hear his tail rattling in what sounded suspiciously like approval. Grim had woven a delicate canopy of silk above the sofa, each strand inscribed with tiny protection runes that glowed softly in the dim light. Even our familiars seemed to understand the significance of this moment, offering their own forms of blessing and protection.
Slowly, reluctantly, Dorian withdrew his fingers from my body. I whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty and bereft. He soothed me with a kiss, his clean hand cupping my cheek.
“Are you all right, love?” he asked softly, his eyes searching my face.
I nodded, a slow smile spreading across my face. “More than all right. That was... It was good.”
Dorian grinned, looking boyishly pleased with himself. “It was, wasn't it? You were magnificent, Ren. Utterly breathtaking.”
I ducked my head, feeling my cheeks heat at Dorian's praise. It was still so new, so surreal, to be the focus of such naked admiration. A part of me wanted to deflect, to downplay what had just happened between us. But a larger part, the part that was slowly unfurling under Dorian's tender care, basked in the warmth of his words.
“I never thought it could be like that,” I murmured, tracing idle patterns on his sweat-dampened chest. I felt more than just sated. I felt… seen. Safe. Cared for.
Dorian's smile softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It can always be like that, with the right person.” He brushed a lock of hair off my forehead, his touch infinitely gentle. “I'm honored to be that person for you, Ren.”
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat, overcome by the sincerity in his voice. “Me too,” I whispered. “I'm glad it's you.”
We lay there for a while longer, trading soft kisses and even softer words as our heart rates gradually returned to normal. Our magic continued to pulse between us, gentler now but no less profound. Silver threads of power wove around us like a cocoon, binding us together in ways that transcended the physical. I could feel echoes of Dorian's magic in my own, like our powers had exchanged pieces of themselves, creating a resonance that felt permanent and precious.
Eventually, though, the sticky mess on my hand and Dorian's skin began to cool, becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
“We should probably clean up,” I said reluctantly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.
Dorian hummed in agreement, pressing a final kiss to my forehead before gently disentangling himself from me.
I watched, entranced, as Dorian rose from the couch with his usual feline grace, tucking himself back into his trousers and buttoning his shirt. Even in the aftermath of our passionate encounter, he looked impossibly elegant, like a painting come to life.
He extended a hand to me, helping me up on legs that still felt like jelly.
Hand in hand, we made our way to the bathroom, an intimate silence hanging between us. I couldn't stop glancing at him, marveling at the fact that this beautiful, extraordinary man had just shared something so profound with me. Me, of all people.
Dorian wet a washcloth with warm water and turned to me, gently taking my hand in his. With infinite care, he wiped away the evidence of our release, his touch as tender as if he were handling blown glass.
When he was done, he brought my hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each palm before he brought me back to the sofa.
I swallowed, my heart doing a funny little flip in my chest. “Thank you,” I whispered, the words feeling wholly inadequate.
I finished righting my clothing, feeling a bit dazed in the most satisfying way. The room felt warmer, softer somehow, and I glanced at Dorian, who was tidying up with his usual unhurried elegance.
“It’s getting late,” I murmured, though part of me didn’t want to leave, reluctant to let this warmth slip away.
Dorian’s expression softened, and he reached out, curling his hand around mine. “You don’t have to go anywhere, Ren. Stay as long as you like.” His thumb traced gentle circles over my knuckles. “There’s no rush, and no classes until after the break.”
I felt my heart settle, any lingering nerves easing as I sank back down onto the couch beside him. Bones padded over, looking quite pleased to find a warm spot on the other side of Dorian, while Grim crawled up my arm to perch on my shoulder, his tiny claws a comforting weight.
“Stay here with me, just like this,” Dorian murmured, brushing a kiss against my temple. “We can just be.”
The promise of a quiet night, free of expectations felt like a gift. I rested my head against Dorian’s shoulder, and he pulled a soft throw blanket around us, tucking it in so that we were cocooned together, our familiars nestled close.
Dorian reached over, pouring us each a cup of tea from the small pot he’d kept warm on the side table. I took a sip, letting the warmth seep through me as we relaxed into the quiet. For once, my mind wasn’t racing or doubting. Here, in this moment, everything felt… right.
The cottage seemed to agree, wrapping us in layers of protective magic. Even the ancient protection wards that lined the walls pulsed with a gentle light, as if blessing this moment, this connection between us. It felt like being held in the heart of something ancient and beautiful, something that transcended the usual boundaries between life and death magic.