She fell asleep before ever making it back to their inn. The steady, rhythmic rocking of her head against Adrien's shoulder was a lullaby, a gentle, insistent pull into the blessed, empty oblivion of unconsciousness. She didn't dream. There was just... nothing. A welcome, healing void after the day's relentless assault on her senses.
She woke to the familiar, oppressive weight of a warm blanket and the soft, downy texture of a pillow. The room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the light. The air was still, but for the faint, crackling sound of a fire in the hearth, and the gentle, even breathing of someone nearby.
She blinked, her eyes slow to focus. The room was a blur of muted colors and soft shapes. She could see the ornate, carved wood of the headboard, the rich, deep red of the tapestries on the walls. It was the inn. Their suite. It felt like much more than half a day since she'd been there. A lifetime.
