Black Morass [m] my time

his whispers, soft and reverent, did not require a reply. she let them settle, a quiet affirmation that she had chosen well.

her head tilted slightly, meeting his forehead with hers, the gesture as intimate as the bond they had just forged. the faint sting of her wound remained, but she bore it without complaint, knowing it as a mark of devotion, a seal of their shared purpose.

she did not need to voice her pride, nor the certainty that coursed through her. it was written in the way her body remained relaxed against his, in the faint curve of her lips, and in the steady rhythm of her breaths. the legacy he spoke of, the thrum of children yet to come—it was enough.

their union would not end here; it would be revisited, reignited in the days to come. but for now, she allowed the moment to linger, the quiet satisfaction of knowing they had begun something eternal.