the girl who lost it all [d.m]

fifty one: misericordia

misericordia: mercy, pity, compassion

———

DRACO was perfectly content.

He'd been disoriented and stunned when he'd first opened his eyes and found himself in a large, warm bed. Had been wary and suspicious at first—but those feelings had dulled and turned fuzzy around the edges as soon as he'd scented lavender and honey almond and felt a mass of curly hair tickling his neck.

Elara was asleep against him, safely tucked into his side, her face serene and peaceful. Soft breaths puffed out against his skin and he had to take a long moment to admire her, to soak her in.

He knew there was something he should be doing—but it didn't matter anymore. Didn't matter now that he was here with her, warm and safe.

But then his eyes drifted upward from her face and landed on the floor-to-ceiling window covering the entire far wall, looking out into a landscape so breathtaking he had to blink twice.

Gently disentangling himself from Elara, he slid out of bed and crossed the room to the window, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet.

The Swiss Alps rolled out in front of them, blanketed in pristine white snow, mist shrouding the mountain tops. They were so high up—Draco couldn't see a single thing apart from snow-dusted pine trees and the valley stretched out before them, the Alps on either side.

For the first time in his life, it was something other than Elara that snatched the breath from his lungs.

Elara. He turned once more to take her in, to let his eyes roam over all that tan skin, bare and smooth, tangled up in black silk sheets.

Automatically, he found himself moving out of the bedroom, stepping out into a large common area. The floor was black marble, the furniture sleek and upholstered in black as well. There was an enormous skylight stretching across the ceiling, covered in snow right now—but somehow, he knew that on clearer days, he'd be able to see the tops of the snow-capped mountains all around through it.

The kitchen was nestled away from the sitting area—also sleek with black marble—and like their bedroom, one entire wall in front of the sofas was a floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the vast expanse of the Alps.

Overall, it was exactly how he would've designed it— right down to the black granite on the kitchen counters.

It was like someone had reached into his mind and pulled it out of him. There was something wrong, he thought. Something important that he was missing—

"Draco?"

Elara was standing in the doorway to the bedroom behind him, looking rested. Her hair was open, brushing just past her collarbones and she was wearing a dark green sweater—one that was probably his, judging by the size.