Morning smelt of hoarfrost and lavender, sweat and untethered desires turned lawless.  As sleep waned from the bleary haze of his vision, Asmodeus drank in the gossamer threads of sunlight as they filtered through the frosted glass panes.  Had it not been for the passive rise and fall of her chest, the soothing warmth of her womanly silhouette pressed flush against his body, it would have been uncannily surreal. The world outside, flush with hues of awaking dawn, confided secrets of a new day.  He was enthralled, snared, bewitched by the beauty of a face others could merely envy.  She’d invariably been hauntingly beautiful, notably when sleep still loosened the tension along the angles of her jaw.  He could feel the pulse of her breath consorting with the air, a rhythm that ambled tenderly throughout the quiet room.  Asmodeus savoured the softness of her pallid skin, the way it felt like a delicate murmur against his own; a reminder that amidst life’s chaotic symphony, there existed fleeting moments of serene beauty. Each breath she took seemed to resonate in the stillness, a lure pulling him deeper into a reverie where time ceased, stagnant and alone.  He traced the outline of her face with the soft caress of his gaze, every curve illuminated by the frail light, and marvelled at how she held the essence of strength and vulnerability.  In the fleeing dawn, everything outside faded - the world, its demands, and its noise - leaving the two of them suspended in a cocoon of warmth. He knew better than to think it was through compassion that her pestle met the mortar.  Angelic as that facade was now, swathed in a haze of slumber, ebony hair splayed around the flat of her pillow, all of that self-destructive work served simply to distract the fractured fissures of inevitable lunacy from spreading like ethereal webs in an already frail psyche.  Creating seemed her defence against the encroaching darkness, a vain effort to solidify her sanity. So many times he wished to be in that imaginary world where demons lurked in the shadows of her peripherals, teasing her, concealing themselves just out of reach.  Their forked tongues flickered like flames, hissing curses only she could hear, heavy with dark hexes.  To offer a moment’s peace amidst the chaos. He shouldn’t wake her.  He shouldn’t brush the breadth of his thumb across the plump, tempting curve of her mouth.  Indeed, he shouldn’t let his hand move down the swell of her breasts to the flat of her stomach and nestle itself between the warmth of her thighs.  Let her sleep.  Despite their night of passion, she still ignited that fire even by doing absolutely nothing.  Asmodeus longed to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from her face, to absorb the tranquillity that enveloped her.  Instead, he chose to simply exist in that space, cherishing the quiet intimacy of the moment.  For now, the best gift he could give her was the peace of her dreams, untouched by the noise and chaos waiting beyond the bedroom door. Asmodeus carefully rose from the bed moving with the grace of a shadow, avoiding creaky floorboards that might betray his presence.  He was careful not to wake his sleeping beauty on his way to the door that opened fully with a soft whine and a curse sworn on a whispering breath.  He made a mental note to fix that later. For now, he set upon the kitchen, gathering what he could to prepare a feast.  Logs for the fire, a griddle and an array of spices she had on the counter.  He placed the griddle of the flames and then turned his attention to the icebox.  From it, he carefully extracted some salted meat, its savoury essence mingling with the earthy scent of the logs burning in the hearth.  He treated each slice reverently as if the meal honoured their precious shared moment. Once Asmodeus whisked the eggs to a golden froth, he ladled them onto the griddle, his icy stare watching them sizzle and morph into fluffy mounds, their edges crisped just how she liked them.  The kitchen transformed into a sanctuary of aromas, the tantalizing scent of breakfast inviting and warm.  Just how it was back at the manor. With each passing moment, anticipation built, surging into the thrum of his heart.  He envisioned her waking, that yawning scowl turned radiant smile, the compensation for his efforts.  As he added the final touches and carefully plated portions, the soft whine of old hinges signaled his plan’s success.  He turned to the door where he yearned to see her shadow, a slanted smirk - sly and inviting - tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hungry, little dove?”

It was difficult to say just exactly how long it had been since rest came to her with such ease. Where the nights would often be plagued by the dystopia and cacophony of unseen demons and unheard voices taunting and tormenting. Her craft was her safe haven, an escape to drown their noises into nothing more than a white noise of nothingness. It had been her go-to since the fires and the ambush that took place once upon a time where only just yesterday and there on, did she believe her husband lost to hungry fang and roaring flame. For once, after some time, Poltergeist slept soundly after night of entangled bodies enveloped into one another within a room once untouched. She was unmoved by his withdrawal from the bed sleeping as soundly as she had. That complaintive whine from the door merely caused a single twitch of her index before her face nuzzled firmly into the plush down-feathered pillow and settling once more following a drawn-weary sigh. That familiar early morning breakfast sizzle was briefly thought of as an illusion to which only dark brows would furrow. Pallid sensitive nose twitched being coaxed and tempered with the inviting fragrance of cooked meat and herb ever slowly reeling her from the depths of her slumber. She had always been slow to wake – even during those nights where night terrors plagued her as she was never truly of sound nature. A plush palm would reach in hopes to find purchase of her husbands warmth beside her only to be met with a chilly absence of abandoned rustled sheets. Dark lashes would flutter as slowed, disheveled movements began to stir. An abandoned button-down shirt was claimed by her grasps, lazily pulling it on like a robe, just barely enough to cover the well-endowed frame of scarred porcelain skin, otherwise still a bare canvas. Raven curls fell in an appropriate though appealing mess as she raked a freed hand through them before finally abandoning the warmth of her bed she had once so desperately evaded. Her steps were intentional albeit sluggish as she vacated the bedroom only to find the prepared meal and that ever dangerous smirk that caused her heart to melt into a puddle whenever he wore it. More often than not, if she were to be honest. A sleepy smile replaced the ire of disturbed sleep as lavender gaze would flit over the perfectly assembled dish before finding the ocean expanse of his blue ones. Poltergeist approached him then with arms seeking to embrace as if to ensure his presence remained and that last night was not just some blissful high no longer to enjoy and savor. Lower lip curled between teeth if only brief before seeking purchase upon his own as a gentle coo hummed from her vocals. “For you, always.” Nose seeking to nuzzle in tandem.

Jahi