"Damnation, I'm becoming mortal," he muttered under his breath.
The early light of dawn spilled in through the parted window, he was sure his wife had opened it the night before.
Still, he remained where he was, unmoving, because his wife had turned him into her personal mattress.
She lay on top of him, breathing softly. At some point during the night, she had turned in her sleep and curled herself over him. He had only watched her, half amused, half in awe... and hadn't moved her.
This bed was never his. He never used it.
He was a creature of the night, one who sat in silence until darkness gave way to morning. Sleep was unnecessary to him.
And yet... he had stayed. He had rested. And when her warm body pressed against him, when her cheek rested over his chest, something in his cold heart had skipped.
That feeling..wasn't meant for someone like him. That was a mortal feeling. And he was not one of them.
