Ok, it is official; she will be putting out sun after she gets her magical powers back. Or it will be rising less often. Let the night reign! She actually thought it would be easier as the wound would be getting better. Well, easier meaning less painful. No-thing-of-the sort. The pain is as flaring as ever. And the fucking light is shining right in her eyes. And some fucking bird signing about something undoubtedly stupid. In her imagination, she picks up his boot from the floor and throws at the bird successfully shutting it up. She never liked those boots anyway. She told him, las night, that she loved him. Right after he stumbled dirty and maybe even bloody into the room. She loves the feeling of power she has over men, but there is no triumph in seeing him almost drop to his knees and utter her name. He is quick to her bed with his strong arms in the air – he wants to touch her, to hold her, to bring her closer but her posture sends signals of hurt and he is unsure.
Here, just come here, - she says and he leans in, forehead to forehead, closing his eyes and breathing in.
The dreams are getting better, she thinks, reluctantly letting it slip away and wondering how real they always feel. She can feel the weight of him on the mattress and if she concentrates enough she can probably feel his breathing on her shoulder. He can't really touch her since her injuries are not to be disturbed, but he is sure to lie close. She is ready to succumb to this dream forever and turn into an idiot just to keep the pleasant feelings going into indefinite but… the pain starts to present itself and the damn bird is relentless and was probably paid up front with a pretty coin for the whole concert of annoying tunes. Nobody is breathing in her shoulder and, hopefully, those who are breathing down her neck will only find her after she is strong enough to fight back.