Twenty-four hours (Farah Dowling x OC)

Goodbye

Hello !

Here's the second part, and the last one too. I thought it was going to be short, but then... I never knew how to do simple. Maybe I should rescind this fiction, to make it easier to read? Less dense maybe?

Tell me what you think!

Enjoy

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Farah woke up with a headache.

She wanted to go back to sleep, where there weren't any responsibilities to endure; she didn't want to leave the comfortable warmth that was so pleasantly wrapped around her body.

But then the warmth moved and mumbled something.

Immediately, her eyes flew open, illuminated with a dangerous silver. An attack? No, the person against her was sound asleep, defenceless. She smelled good, too.

What in the Other World...?

And then she remembered the night before. The very sexy and shameless French woman, specialist in legends, who taught her that Burned Ones lived on the First World since the beginning of times. First Fire, she said.

While insufferably teasing and horribly flirting with her.

Why had she fallen for that? It must've been the tension: between a Changeling at her school and a new Burned One, her stress levels had exploded. It was only natural to seek a release somewhere, she rationalised.

And how much of a release it was...

Camille had been as wild as patient, making sure she took her pleasure first and foremost; she made her feel safe and whole, and Farah forgot everything just for a night. How long had it been since she last felt that?

No, she shouldn't think like that.

It was nice, but it was a one-time experience, and now she was going back to her world. She'd never see her again, and it would be simpler that way. The woman was way too persisting and infuriating to stay in her life.

Farah had to leave.

And yet, she hesitated, rolling in the bed to face her lover of one night. She was beautiful, and now that her hypnotising eyes were closed, she could focus on the little details; a mole next to her right ear, some discreet freckles on her nose.

Her brown hair completely tangled after the rough activities of the night formed a dark crown around her head, highlighting the tan of her skin. There were fine scars under her chin, and she felt the urge to feel them under her fingers to see if they were rough.

Suddenly Camille whimpered and Farah jumped at the sound, anguished at the idea of her waking up before she had left. No, she had to get up, get dressed and go back to Alfea before Saul "raised hell".

Her eyes glowed their usual pale blue, and she brushed away a strand from Camille's face. She had to feel if her companion was close to waking up, or...

Farah was assaulted by a nightmare.

People close to her were running and yelling, and she knew -how?- that it was a hunt.

Were they the hunters or the preys?

Feeling guilty for prying into her mind -especially for a silly dream that could mean anything-, she extended her hand and made the nightmare fade away, appreciating the way Camille's face relaxed, how beautiful she looked with her features slack by sleep.

No, she had to go.

She got up and put on clothes quickly, not daring to look one second more at the woman in her bed. If she did, she might be tempted once more, but she couldn't allow herself to slack off anymore.