SOREN
The heavy oak doors of the sitting room yielded silently to my touch. I had intended to check in on Eris before heading to the baths to scrub the scent of iron and ozone from my skin, but the sight that met me stalled the breath in my lungs.
The afternoon light had faded into a deep, bruised indigo, leaving the room illuminated only by the dying embers of the hearth.
There, tangled in a nest of velvet cushions and discarded fairy-tale books, sat my world.
Eris was fast asleep, her head tilted back against the mahogany frame of the couch. Her hair was a wild, silken spill across her shoulders, and her lips were parted just slightly.
Draped over her, like a small, warm anchor, was Rael. His head was pillowed on her chest, his small hand fisted in the emerald wool of her robe.
They looked as though they had been carved from the same piece of peace, a portrait of soft breathing and absolute trust.
