Vohne lay beside her, in silence… Watching Cibel’s curves licked by the dim candle light, he hesitated.
Why do you keep your distance, Love?
She rolled over, offering herself, her pale skin contrasting on the black silky linen. “Poor wounded dove” he thought to himself. As if she was reading his very mind, she cooed softly…
Fragile, Dearest… Fragile doesn’t mean broken!
She blew on the candle’s flame, hoping Vohne would keep her warm, for the rest of the night.