My eyes open to the world in stages. First, a blur of intricate plasterwork—the luxurious ceiling of the bedroom.
A soft, pained sound escapes my lips.
Ahhh…
I lie still, blinking slowly, trying to coax the world into focus. My body feels like it's been drained of all its substance, leaving only a heavy, aching weakness behind.
I stare upward, blinking at the gilded cherubs and swirling patterns, as if the answers might be written there.
Then, a voice. Gentle, saturated with worry.
"Zyren? How are you feeling?"
I turn my head on the pillow. Angel is sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
His beautiful face is a canvas of pure, unguarded anxiety.
I just blink at him for a long moment, my mind still drifting in the fog between sleep and the memory of strong arms catching my fall.
Moon's arms.
"Zyren?"
Angel prompts again, leaning forward.
I blink again, the silence finally breaking.
"Angel…"
