The night outside was quiet, the wind a whisper brushing past the windows. Inside, the world had shrunk to the soft rustle of sheets and the rhythm of two hearts, close together but uncertain. A small lantern glowed at the corner of the room, casting a honey-colored hue over the bed.

  Elena rested her head against Ember’s shoulder, legs drawn up, one hand intertwined with Ember’s. Her period cramps had dulled for now, soothed by the herbal tea Ember had insisted she drink, and by the way Ember had stubbornly stayed beside her all day—making her laugh, feeding her spoonfuls of fruit, distracting her with silly impressions of dancing capybaras in sunglasses.

  She sighed softly, her voice muffled against Ember’s skin. “Do you think Freya and Maia were always like that?”

  “Like what?” Ember asked, her thumb tracing idle circles over Elena’s knuckles.

  “So… settled,” Elena murmured. “So in love it hurts your teeth to watch.”

  Ember laughed under her breath. “They are pretty gross sometimes.”

  Elena smiled, but the question stayed in her mind. “How did they even have a kid? I mean, they’re both women. Aeylr biology is close to ours, right?”

  “Oh,” Ember blinked. “Yeah, Maia told me once. Raelin is adopted.”

  Elena turned her head slightly to look up at her. “Really?”

  “Mhmm.” Ember nodded. “They found him abandoned near one of the old northern groves. Said he was barely two, but already talking. Freya took one look at him and apparently refused to leave until Maia agreed to bring him home.”

  Elena hummed softly. “That makes sense. Maia’s always had that soft look in her eyes when he’s around. Like… she remembers the moment she decided he was hers.”

  “She does,” Ember said. “She told me once that she doesn’t believe blood means much when it comes to love. Said Raelin chose to love them, too.”

  Elena felt something warm rise in her chest. She held Ember’s hand tighter. “Do you think… if we ever… y’know. Would we adopt too?”

  Ember turned to look at her, expression unreadable for a moment. “You’ve thought about that?”

  “I don’t know,” Elena mumbled, half-hiding in her hair. “It’s just… kind of sweet, isn’t it? A tiny someone running around calling you ‘mama.’”

  Ember smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think you’d be a really good mom.”

  “I’d spoil them,” Elena grinned. “Let them stay up too late and eat cake for breakfast.”

  “And I’d be the strict one,” Ember teased. “Tell them stories before bed. Teach them how to hold a dagger.”

  Elena laughed.

  They fell into a comfortable silence again. Ember’s hand left hers for a moment only to trail lightly across Elena’s arm, fingertips brushing gently across her skin. Elena closed her eyes.

  Then, Ember spoke again. Her voice was quiet. Careful.

  “If we ever do… have kids. I’ll find the right person to help with that part. Someone safe. Someone we can trust.”

  Elena tilted her head up. “You’ve thought about it that much?”

  Ember hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

  Another silence.

  “…You’re kind of romantic, you know that?” Elena whispered, her voice soft with surprise.

  Ember chuckled, but it faded quickly. She let the moment breathe for a second longer before saying, “Elena… there’s something else.”

  Elena blinked. “What?”

  “I’ve had lovers before.”

  The words weren’t loud. But they were enough.

  Elena sat up just slightly, not pulling away—but her posture changed. A stiffness in her spine. Her fingers slowly stopped moving.

  “…You mean before you came back?”

  Ember nodded.

  “How many?”

  Ember swallowed. “Three.”

  Elena was quiet for a long time.

  “Three,” she repeated.

  “It wasn’t like that,” Ember said quickly. “It wasn’t serious. I wasn’t— I never loved them. It was just… the world felt empty without you. I tried to feel something again, and I—”

  “You were out there,” Elena said, her voice hollow now. “Living. Touching other people. And I… I was waiting.”

  “Elena—”

  “I waited for you,” she whispered. “I told myself every single night that you’d come back. I wrote letters I never sent. I dreamed of you.” Her voice cracked. “And you were—what, kissing someone else?”

  “I didn’t love them,” Ember said again. “Not like I love you. It wasn’t the same.”

  “That doesn’t make it better.”

  Ember reached for her, but Elena pulled her legs up, tucking herself into the edge of the bed. She wasn’t sobbing—she was quiet, trembling in the way that came when you didn’t want someone to see you fall apart.

  “Elena,” Ember said softly. “Please.”

  “I just…” Elena wiped at her eyes quickly. “I waited. That’s all. And it hurts. It hurts that you didn’t.”

  “I was waiting,” Ember insisted. “I was trying to survive it. Trying to feel something. But every time, I realized it wasn’t you. And it was worse.”

  Elena shook her head, eyes glassy.

  “I love you now,” Ember said. “Right here. Right now. I love you so much it aches. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Elena turned her face away. “How do I know that?”

  Ember was quiet.

  “I’m not cursed,” Elena said suddenly. “You are. That’s what you said. And sometimes I feel like you believe I’m just… not meant to stay.”

  “You’re not a placeholder,” Ember said, her voice firm now. She reached over and gently took Elena’s hand again. “You’re the one. You’ve always been the one.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Then why wasn’t I enough back then?”

  “Because I was stupid,” Ember whispered. “And hurting. And trying to outrun the curse instead of facing it. I didn’t know how to keep myself whole when you weren’t near.”

  A long pause.

  “…Are you hungry?” Ember offered softly.

  Elena didn’t answer.

  “I made those little nut cakes you like,” Ember added, hopeful. “With the honey glaze.”

  Still no answer.

  “…And I cleaned the fruit. And I might have bribed the dancing bear to get you some sweet wine from the cellar.”

  That earned a sniffled breath that might’ve been a laugh. Ember slowly placed a hand on her shoulder again, then leaned her head on Elena’s.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you. And I won’t do it again,” she murmured. “If you want to yell at me more, I deserve it. But I’m not walking away from this. Not from you.”

  Elena let her head fall onto Ember’s shoulder again. She didn’t speak for a while. Ember didn’t move.

  And then, very softly:

  “…You still like the gazelles.”

  Ember smiled sadly, eyes burning. “I like you. That’s the difference.”

  Elena didn’t say anything, but her fingers found Ember’s hand again and held on—this time, tighter.

  It was late. The kind of late where the silence wrapped around them like a second blanket, and every small sound—the creak of the wooden beams above, the soft puff of breath—felt louder. Neither of them had fallen asleep. They lay tangled together under the thin covers, the warm orange glow from the last flicker of lantern light casting soft shadows across the bed.

  Elena had her back to Ember at first, but then she turned, slowly, their knees brushing under the blanket. Her eyes found Ember’s in the dark. A quietness lingered between them, the kind that settled in after tears and confessions.

  “Elena?” Ember whispered, watching her.

  There was a pause, then Elena answered, her voice hushed. “The place we’re going… They don’t allow cursed ones inside.”

  Ember blinked, her brow furrowing gently. “What?”

  Elena looked at her, her eyes heavy, but clear. “That’s what the voices told me. Back in the ruins. I didn’t understand at first, but… I do now.” She sighed. “You won’t be able to pass through with me.”

  Ember’s hand moved up to cup her cheek. “I’ll still go in with you.”

  “You can’t,” Elena whispered. “It’s not possible.”

  “Says who?” Ember said, her voice firmer now, low and quiet. “Some old whisper echoing off stone walls?”

  Elena tried to smile, but it was tired. “It wasn’t just any whisper. It… felt like something ancient. Something that knows.”

  Ember leaned in, pressing her forehead to hers. “Then I’ll find a way to break whatever rule says I can’t be beside you.”

  Elena stared into her, searching her for a flicker of doubt. But Ember didn’t waver.

  “I would walk into fire,” Ember said gently, “if it meant staying beside you. What’s some old gate to that?”

  That finally made Elena smile, small and fond. Her brows still drawn with worry, but her hand lifted to Ember’s cheek, her thumb brushing along the edge of her jaw.

  “You’re ridiculous,” Elena said.

  Ember leaned in, barely an inch. “But yours.”

  Then she gently blew a soft breath near Elena’s ear, the warmth teasing at her skin, followed by a whisper and a playful trail of breath along her neck.

  Elena flinched with a stifled laugh, her shoulder hunching. “Ember—stop! That tickles!”

  Ember grinned, shifting closer, her lips just grazing the shell of Elena’s ear. “What if I don’t?”

  Elena giggled, muffling her laugh against her shoulder, twisting under the blanket. “Stop, stop—!”

  Ember chuckled, then teased her with a soft puff of air just behind her ear again, the spot that made Elena squirm and press her shoulder up. She curled in on herself, laughing now, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

  “You’re doing this on purpose!” Elena accused.

  “Obviously,” Ember said, grinning. “I like the sound of your laugh.”

  Elena rolled her eyes and swatted her gently. “You probably did this to all your other girlfriends.”

  Ember raised a brow, leaning close until their noses almost touched. “If I showed you what I did to the other girls…” she whispered, her voice low and teasing, “you’d be screaming louder than the bunny from the old lake camp.”

  Elena’s mouth fell open. “You went that far with them?!”

  Ember blinked. “I—”

  “That’s it.” Elena flipped to her side, turning her back to Ember. “I’m not talking to you.”

  Ember stifled a laugh, scooting closer. “Wait, wait—Elena—”

  “No.”

  “I was joking—kind of,” she whispered, pressing close to her back.

  Elena didn’t move, her arms crossed under her head, lips pouting.

  Ember slowly wrapped her arms around her from behind, her breath tickling Elena’s neck again, but softer this time. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

  “You did,” Elena muttered. “And now I’m imagining you tickling other girls while I was crying alone under a waterfall.”

  “…Okay, that’s oddly specific.”

  “It happened.”

  Ember buried her face in Elena’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “I am. Let me make it up to you.”

  Elena didn’t respond, but she didn’t move away either. Ember rested there, holding her gently, their bodies warm against one another beneath the thin blankets. The stars outside glimmered beyond the windowpane, unseen but quietly watching.

  “I don’t want anyone else, Elena,” Ember said, voice soft as the night. “It was always going to be you. Even when I didn’t know how to find you again.”

  “…Then don’t let go,” Elena whispered.

  Ember held her tighter. “Never.”

  And the two stayed like that, wrapped in laughter and silence, in love and ache and all the things in between—until the stars slowly began to shift above them, and sleep came softly at last.

  The morning light crept slowly through the slanted wooden blinds of their room, casting soft amber lines across the tangle of sheets and warm bodies. Birds chirped outside in the gentle hum of Raqs Town, the kind of place where even the wind seemed to move to a rhythm of dance.

  Ember stirred first.

  She always did.

  She blinked the sleep from her eyes, shifting carefully so as not to wake the warm weight resting on her chest. Elena’s arm was draped lazily across Ember’s stomach, her face nuzzled into the hollow of her neck, her breath soft and even. Ember smiled.

  “Sleepyhead,” she whispered, brushing her fingers gently down Elena’s back. “It’s morning.”

  No response.

  Ember chuckled softly. “You’re really going to make me carry you again, aren’t you?”

  Still nothing. Just a soft mumble that sounded suspiciously like “Five more minutes,” and a tiny stretch of toes under the blanket.

  With a sigh and a smirk, Ember slid out from under her, tucking the blanket over Elena before moving across the room. She started packing. Her movements were quiet but practiced. Folded clothes, neatly arranged herbs, the little vial of red powder Elena always carried but never used, a few books, and leftover sweets from the celebration.

  After a while, Elena shifted and let out a loud, exaggerated yawn. “Mmmmmmm.”

  Ember glanced back. “Good morning, princess.”

  Elena stretched her arms high above her head like a sleepy cat, hair falling messily over her face, eyes still half-closed.

  Without saying a word, she held out both arms toward Ember.

  Ember raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

  Elena looked at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Pick me up.”

  Ember blinked. “No.”

  Elena pouted. “But I always get a morning hug.”

  “You also always get a warning to stop sleeping in.”

  “I’m delicate,” Elena mumbled, rolling on her back, arms still up. “You said I could rest.”

  “You rested through breakfast.”

  “I was having a dream,” she protested. “It was important.”

  Ember crossed her arms. “Did it involve more gazelles?”

  Elena smirked sleepily. “Maybe.”

  “I’m going to the mess. Be downstairs when you’re ready,” Ember said flatly, turning and walking toward the door.

  “You’re abandoning me?” Elena called dramatically from the bed.

  “You’ll survive.” Ember grinned as she stepped out.

  —

  Downstairs, the mess hall was buzzing with morning chatter. Plates clinked. Laughter rolled from one table to another. Ember made her way through the tables, nodding at familiar faces—many of them anthropomorphic animals in vests and scarves, all part of Raqs Town’s unique, joyful community.

  She had just picked up a warm mug of something sweet and mildly caffeinated when a tall figure stepped in front of her.

  “Morning, fire girl.”

  A female cheetah with sleek spotted fur, piercing golden eyes, and a sinfully curvy silhouette leaned against the wooden post beside Ember. She was wearing a cropped leather vest and nothing else up top, because, well—fur. Her tail swayed lazily behind her, flicking once.

  “You new here?” the cheetah asked with a little purr in her voice.

  Ember blinked. “Uh… no. Just passing through.”

  The cheetah tilted her head. “Pity. I was hoping you’d be around longer.”

  Ember opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter a single word—

  A voice thundered from across the hall, shrill and furious.

  “YOU!”

  Everyone stopped.

  The cheetah turned her head just in time to see a flustered, wild-haired Elena storming down the stairs in loose clothes and bare feet, eyes burning.

  “That’s my girlfriend,” Elena snapped, jabbing a finger at the cheetah. “Back off, before I turn your tail into a scarf.”

  A silence fell. Plates clinked softly in the distance. Someone in the back coughed.

  Ember, who was still holding her mug, looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

  “Elena—”

  “You were going to flirt back, weren’t you?” Elena accused.

  “I literally said nothing.”

  “You were smiling!”

  “It’s my face! I always smile!”

  The cheetah slowly backed away, paws raised, amused and slightly alarmed. “Okay okay, she’s spicy. I get it.”

  “Spicy and mine,” Elena huffed.

  As the cheetah sauntered away with a smirk and a wink, Ember let out a sigh and rubbed her temple. “You really don’t do quiet jealousy, do you?”

  “Nope.” Elena took the mug from her hand and took a sip. “Mmm. That’s good.”

  “That was mine.”

  “Then go get another,” she said sweetly, taking Ember’s hand in her free one and tugging her toward the table. “You’re sitting with me and telling me what she said before I arrived.”

  “She said like, three words—”

  “Still counts. I want all the details.”

  Ember groaned, embarrassed beyond belief, but she followed, helpless under the sheer gravity of Elena’s possessive sass.

  And though she would never admit it aloud…

  She kind of liked it.