#radais

In spite of himself, Abe liked to watch her in the mornings. He sat back in the chair, cup of coffee growing cold in his hand, his gentle brown eyes never wavering from her. There was a tranquility to her that had him entranced.

Her movements were fluid and sweeping. All the fire-and-brimstone, the pulse of physic energy, the spark of anger - they were gone, as if the tide had gone out while she slept. She spooned grounds into the coffee maker, then fished a mug from the drying rack. When she turned to open the fridge door, she did so like a dancer, letting her toes spread and slide on the tile. And she pointedly avoided his gaze, though the twitch of a smile let him know that she felt it.

As the coffee maker sputtered and hissed, Radais arched her back, taking a deep breath. Something in the way she stood - one hip leaned against the counter, brown hair tangled in a loose bun - seemed docile and domestic. He’d almost forgot her true nature, except for the way her yellow eyes flashed in the light.

Carefully, she poured her coffee, stirring cream and nutmug into it with reverence, as if it were a great offering. He’d thought he’d seen her lips moving - a whispered prayer. Watching her like this set his soul on fire, an uneasy burning that he could feel deep in the pit of his stomach.