Ragnar woke to a strange tugging sensation in his chest. Sleep still clung to him, making his eyelids feel unbearably heavy, but he managed to pry them open just enough to take in his surroundings. His bedchamber remained dimly lit, much as it had been when he fell asleep, illuminated only by the faint, flickering glow of a single candle.
He shifted slightly, and his gaze fell upon Circe, who slept soundly beside him. The covers were draped loosely over her mostly naked form, rising and falling softly with each steady breath she took. But it was not her presence alone that held his attention, it was what lingered above her.
Hovering over her sleeping form was one of his shadows.
He would always recognize them. They were a part of him, bound to his very being.
