#ondolemar

Light struck his face unfiltered and unkind. Ondolemar stirred slowly, a faint crease forming between his brows as he shifted against the sheets. The world was quiet—soft, golden, unfamiliar. Consciousness returned in fragments—the warmth of the bed, the unfamiliar scent of the room, the weight of sleep clinging stubbornly to his limbs. For a brief, disorienting moment, he had no idea where he was. Then it came back to him. He reached instinctively toward the other side of the bed, expecting the familiar warmth, the press of her thigh against his leg, the tumble of her hair across his chest. Nothing. His fingers brushed only cool sheets. Hand lingering there for a second longer than necessary, he then opened his eyes and looked properly, brows knitting. Morning light filtered through the window in stripes, enough to illuminate the room in a gentle glow. For a heartbeat he wondered if she’d simply shifted in her sleep—until his gaze swept the space. She had been up for a while. Her brush lay on the dresser, half-buried under a fan of hair ribbons she clearly debated using and then abandoned. A few bottles of oils and scent had been rearranged—Talisse’s version of “deciding,” which was always just a polite word for making a small, charming mess. A necklace lay open beside the mirror, as though she’d held it to her throat, frowned at it, and set it aside to reach for something better. He smiled faintly. Talisse waking before him was rare enough to remark upon. She liked mornings only in theory. She liked the idea of mornings—soft light, warm blankets, the promise of a slow, indulgent day. But she rarely surrendered that warmth willingly. Her waking before him and not waking him as well was rarer still, almost unheard of. She had never been one to miss an opportunity to pull him halfway into the morning with teasing remarks or soft hands.

Got tagged by @saltymaplesyrup