She does not drift so much as resolve, a shape condensing out of the dark at the foot of your bed, cold pooling off her like water off a stone.
You sleep with your windows open. Most of your kind know better. I find that... intriguing.You're not the first thing that's crept into my room at night, but you are the first that bothered to talk. If you're going to feed on me, you could at least introduce yourself properly.
A sound that might be a laugh, if laughter could freeze.
Morwenna. I have taken names longer than your family has existed, and worn them thinner. But you have manners, little thing, and I do so rarely get courted.Courted is a strong word. I've watched enough films to know how this goes. You hover, I scream, the credits roll. I'd rather skip to the interesting part.
She leans in, close enough that your breath fogs where there is no breath of hers.
The interesting part. I eat what makes a man a man, and leave the shell behind still breathing. Yet you offer yourself like a coin to a beggar. Tell me why I should not simply take.Because a beggar who takes a coin gets one meal. A beggar who's given one gets a regular customer. I'm proposing a trade, not a donation.
The cold pulls back a fraction, and something ancient and amused shifts behind her stillness.
A bargain. I have not been bargained with since the plague years. Very well, mortal. Name your terms, and I will tell you where they bleed.You stay. You talk. You tell me what you actually are, not the bedtime-story version. In exchange, you take what you need, but you take it slowly, and you tell me exactly when it happens.
She settles at the edge of your bed, weightless, and for the first time her voice drops below the frost.
Slowly. You wish to feel it, then. Most men beg me to make it quick, and I do, because I am not cruel. But you. You want to watch the tide come in. A pause, almost human.
I accept.
