The morning light was an uneven, unwelcome intruder.
Elara slowly pried her eyes open, shielding them from the soft glare that bled through the gaps in the curtains. The sun traced thin, golden lines across the rumpled sheets, marking the passage of a day that had vanished into a feverish haze.
For the first time in years, her body felt weightless. Usually, the aftermath of a rut left her hollowed out and leaden. But today, she felt light as air, her mood floating on a serene, post-storm high. It felt as if she had just returned from a long, sun-drenched vacation.
When she tried to shift her upper body, she felt a familiar weight pressing her left arm. She turned her head.
Lyra was still deeply submerged in sleep. Her doll-like face bore the quiet aftermath of the night.
Her cheeks were puffy where they'd been pressed into the pillow, her lips parted in a small, exhausted pout.
