Shadowwyn Moor [m] māmila

she agreed, her voice low but steady. it is mine.

his touch, the graze of his lips and the heat of his breath against her skin, sent a shiver down her spine, though she held herself still, resolute. this closeness was something she had come to cherish, an intimacy that felt both new and ancient. she turned slightly, nuzzling into his touch, her own breath warm against his fur.

let them say it all, she murmured, a quiet defiance in her tone, a smile ghosting her lips. let them know the weight of who i am, and who i am with you.

her gaze lingered on him, reading the intent burning in his eyes, the pull of something raw and unyielding. she did not shy away, her own expression softening as she leaned into him, her voice a gentle whisper against his ear.

we are watched by the spirits, she said, not as a warning, but as a quiet acknowledgment of their place in the great weave of the world. let them see.