Aiden's sleep was never truly peaceful.
It came upon him in short bursts—two hours at most—like a soldier's truce with exhaustion rather than rest itself. His dreams were made of whispers: fragments of prayers uttered by false mouths, visions of burning cathedrals, and the endless echo of chains rattling in some unseen abyss.
[Lilith smiles]
Now, in the dimness of his chamber, he drifted between that half-sleep and waking. The moonlight fell in ribbons through the sheer curtains, silvering the sheets where Luna lay beside him. Her head rested against his chest, her breath soft and rhythmic, the warmth of her body a fragile tether to the mortal world he often forgot he belonged to.
Her sleep, ever so deep, why wouldn't it be, he pounded her deep enough, that her body wouldn't move an inch when sleeping.
