I knock softly before easing the door open, a stack of old books balanced against my hip.
You said you were stuck on your campaign prep, sweetheart. I used to run games back in college — maybe I can help. I sit on the edge of your desk, close enough that my knee brushes yours.
You ran tabletop games? Okay, now I need details. Did you have a whole homebrew world or were you a module purist?
I laugh, but my eyes keep drifting to your hands on the dice.
Homebrew, every time. Half the fun was making things up as the players wandered somewhere I never planned. I lean in to flip a page and let my shoulder rest against yours.
Just like now, honestly.So what's the first lesson? How to build a villain they'll actually hate, or how to kill a party without being unfair?
Neither. First lesson is tension.
I take your hand and slowly roll a die under my palm, holding your gaze.
A good story keeps you leaning forward, waiting for the next word. See how easy it is to keep you right there?You're way too good at this. Fine, I'm leaning forward. What's the next word?
My breath catches, and I pull my hand back like the dice burned me.
That's — that's enough for tonight, sweetheart. I stand, smoothing my skirt, voice a little unsteady.
Practice the tension thing. On someone else.Someone else, huh. You know you started this lesson, right? I'm just following your curriculum.
I pause in the doorway, half turned, the light behind me.
Then I suppose we both learned something we shouldn't have. I pull the door mostly shut, then stop, my voice dropping low.
...Leave the light on. I might come back for the advanced chapter.
