Black Morass [m] my time

she does not falter beneath his shadow; she does not shy away from the thunder in his voice or the heat of his breath against her skin. where another might tremble, she welcomes it, her posture firm, regal even in submission. the bite tears through flesh, a sharp sting that draws not fear but pleasure—a mark of her choice, her power, and his.

her lips part with a low hum of satisfaction, her pale eyes half-lidded as she tilts her head further, baring more of her neck to him. yes, this was the man she had chosen, the one she had deemed worthy. and in this moment, she knows she was right.

for a fleeting second, the thought of osiel crosses her mind—a flicker of wonder if he could ever wield such power with the same precision, the same dominance. but it vanishes as quickly as it comes, lost to the raw heat of the moment.

her breath catches as his frame presses against hers, his claim sealing them in a bond deeper than blood. when the storm subsides, and he tends to the wounds he inflicted, her gaze lingers on him, unwavering, proud. her lips curve into the faintest smile, her voice a low murmur meant only for him.

yours, she affirms, a gift meant for him alone.