I’ve chosen a side. And that side is with him.
He’s the only one who can keep me safe here. He’s the only one who cares about me. Wholovesme.
With a heavy sigh, I change into my nightgown, then pause, unable to resist checking the mark one more time.
Aerix Nightborne.
Not even his title. Justhim.
I should go to bed. But I’m too restless, my mind racing with everything that’s happened. So, I wander to the art supplies Aerix gave me a few weeks ago, grab a sketchbook and pencils, and settle onto the window seat. The moonlight streams in, bathing everything in a soft, silver glow that reminds me of the frost that forms when Aerix’s magic spirals out of control.
Flipping open to a fresh page, I begin to draw, my pencil moving almost on its own.First, his eyes—infinite, dark, and hungry. Then his face, the sharp angles and perfect planes that shouldn’t be possible. The curve of his mouth when he smiles, that rare, genuine expression that makes my heart flip.
One drawing becomes two, which becomes five, then a dozen. I lose myself in the process, capturing moments I don’t want to forget: Aerix eating breakfast with me in the bunker, the two of us riding on Nyx’s back through the woods, his pulling me out of the Night Court’s moat and declaring me as his, him feeding from me for the first time, his wings unfurling around us in bed, his hands as he held the dagger and carved his name into my skin.
Some pages I leave half-finished: a wing with no body, a hand reaching for something unseen, a set of eyes without a face—secret corners of my heart waiting for him to fill them.
I’ll tell him he can add to it. Let him trace his own lines and scribble his own shadows. He can complete the drawings I’ve left unfinished, then return it to me.
And I’ll do the same, back and forth—a conversation in art that never has to end.
