Twenty-Four

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I watch her sleep. I was right; her glow is brighter, more beautiful, when she's asleep, even with my imprint.

So why has her glow dimmed and shrunk, to the point where it's just a strange luminosity that settles on her skin rather than light up the room?

She's unhappy, a small voice in me whispers.

"But if she's unhappy," I murmur, "why doesn't she say anything?" I dismiss the idea. "She must be sick or something. Mortals are weak."

She won't be when you have her.

I smile at the thought. Look at her again. "Soon," I whisper, stroking her cheek.

Soon.

            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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