Chapter 275
Nima
I can't believe this is my life now.
The thought isn't fearful, or even particularly awed. It's a quiet, daily astonishment. A soft hum of disbelief that sits beneath everything, like the drone of bees in the Nyxclaw gardens.
All I have to do, is sit here, and be alive.
I'm curled in the wide window seat of her solar, sunlight painting warm stripes across the open sketchbook in my lap. From here, I can see the wild, dark beauty of the eastern forests rolling to the horizon, and I can see her.
Daphne stands before a large canvas, in a simple, paint-splattered white linen shirt and loose trousers. Her hair is a messy dark cap, her panther ears flicking occasionally as if listening to the rhythm of her own thoughts.
She's so beautiful and handsome and perfect.
Arguably, this is when she's most attractive. Not when she's terrifying a council or lounging with predatory grace, but like this: utterly absorbed, creating something from nothing.
