𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

xxii. always.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏, wishing it would come easier now that Morrow's no longer sending torturous pains through their bond. Unfortunately, she lays awake, staring aimlessly at the cathedral ceilings of the room, counting fireflies as they hide amidst pine beams. She'd gotten accustomed to Morrow's bed, his sheets and scent, but there's no way she's opening the door to their adjoined rooms and slipping beneath the sheets beside him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Perhaps she could convince him to take the floor.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Or shove him off the mattress.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Maybe even barter with him to trade rooms.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No, she won't even entice the idea of approaching Morrow at this hour. She's still sickened by the image of him accepting to mate with a witch, all in favour of having the next alpha be the descendant of spells. It leaves her creature in turmoil, illed and betrayed by its mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎If this is his decision, then they're not mates. They can't be. Although, for a moment in time, somewhere between his magnificent melodies and swoonworthy neck kisses, she thought maybe he could. Morrow's just a shell of a man, stone cold and calculated, but there's a heart yearning to beat somewhere beneath the darkness engulfed in him. She thought maybe he would change, could change.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But that'd be selfish, right? Giving up his right to defend his pack from the blight, all in exchange for laying next to his fated mate doesn't sound like the Morrow she's come to know.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's not like she's eager to see him after being down in the castle gardens, but his return brought a new level of insomnia that she's desperate to cure. Her eyes wander to the crack of light flickering from beneath the door connecting their rooms. The night's been... soundless. Elowen wondered if she'd be lucky enough to hear him play his violin to ease the throbbing from witches' runes, but there hasn't been any signs of life behind that door.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen sits up, reaching for her bedside table for her novel as a way to take her mind off Morrow and his ridiculous schemes. To her dismay, she only finds the book missing from her side. Well, she shouldn't be so shocked that it's not there. It's not like she collected her things from Morrow's room while he was gone.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She reroutes her attention back to his door. His closed, not-so-locked door.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His hearth burns endlessly due to the magic, only snuffing out when his eyes close. There hasn't been any sounds of instruments or footsteps from his side. Even her bond to him remains silent. All signs point to that room being vacant of Morrow's miserable self.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her intellect reminds her how awful of an idea this is to enter into his room, but her creature loves the thought of being in Morrow's space.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It'll just be to retrieve my book, she tells herself, because she's still pissed at Morrow for all he's done, for what he's doing.