The next morning, Azazeal woke up later than he normally would. He blamed the night he spent overthinking and strategizing until Elora's fragrant scent lured him to sleep.
His eyes scanned the glass windows, and the gray sky pressed down on the cliffs ahead, signaling an impending snowstorm.
A low groan of a hungry stomach sounded and Azazeal's cold gaze flicked down in subtle surprise.
He knew the sound wasn't from him, and all arrows pointed to the small bundle on the bed. He reached out and patted it, calling out gently, "Elora, get up, you want to eat right?"
The blanket remained unmoving even as she softly shook it.
A few seconds later, the blanket finally moved.
Elora didn't even open her eyes, she slowly poked her head out from the side of the covers, her dark hair in disarray, her soft voice muffled: "Sleepy..."
Azazeal froze at the sight.
