#CastlevaniaXReader

[shiklah]

sinners

part I

{part II}

Castlevania

Alucard x reader

She knew that the storm was approaching inevitably. The wind was so cold that she felt it crawling under her skin, biting at her uncovered ears and fingertips, blowing against her black cloak, which spread out behind her like wings.

The forest was dark despite the silver shield of the moon, which flickered somewhere behind the clouds of grey. Her horse had died long ago, succumbing to the darkness and the chill of the long, deadly winter. Still, she trudged forward, clinging with all her might to the remnants of hope that she might survive the night.

She had nothing left—no food, no money, no will. She had become an animal, and the one at the very bottom of the food chain. Weakened, hungry, nearly unconscious from the cold, she kept taking slow step after slow step on the creaking snow. She could see nothing beyond the tip of her nose; the first flakes of stormy snow began to twirl against the backdrop of the night sky, and she began to hear sounds she could never have imagined in her worst nightmares.

She wanted to think they were hallucinations brought on by exhaustion. That the howling of animals hiding behind the pitch-black tree trunks was just a delusion, that the snow falling in her face was merely a nightmare, that everything was just a terrible, monstrous illusion, her personal hell. She was so afraid of death.

In the distance, she saw a light, though it might have been an illusion, or perhaps just flickering stars, yet she had nothing to lose and could gain much.

The closer she got to the light, the more she noticed. The light, however, was not from stars, but from the warm flames of candles placed in the windows of a massive, gloomy castle. Its long, black towers seemed to stretch up to the very moon, overwhelming her with their size and sharp design. She had never seen such a structure, one that looked as though it hadn't been built by human hands. She didn't even know such buildings could exist, for the castle’s towers appeared to almost levitate. Everything seemed so unwelcoming, dangerous, treacherous. Yet, in that moment, even that felt better to her than the tragic death of hunger or freezing to death.

As she approached the massive castle doors, she felt a little better. The wind no longer bit as painfully, and the snow no longer crept down her collar. She knocked confidently, as loudly as her aching hands allowed. Silence. She knocked again, and behind the door, she heard a rustling.

"Please, help me! My horse died miles from here, I have no food left, and I’m dying from the cold. Please, let me stay for at least the night," she begged, leaning her exhausted weight against the door. She could feel her teeth chattering, and the numbness creeping into her feet. She wrapped herself tighter in her soaked cloak, hiding her face in its folds.

The gates creaked open slightly with a long groan, and a man appeared in the narrow passage. She saw only part of his face, but she could tell he looked inhuman. His eyes were sunken, his face as pale as chalk, and strands of matted blonde hair fell over his forehead. He glared at her with a threatening look, and she saw menace in his yellow, cat-like eyes.

"Get out of here," he snarled, trying to close the door in her face. However, she quickly stopped him by placing her cold hand on the door. He didn’t resist, and she saw that he was stronger than her, so she took that as a sign that she could continue her possibly fruitless pleading.

"Please, sir, there is no village nearby. Leaving me here would sentence me to death. Please let me spend the night in the castle."

She saw his displeased gaze, noticed how he sized her up from head to toe, and caught the grimace of disgust on his face. Nevertheless, she stood her ground, still keeping her frozen hand on the door, fighting for her life.

After a moment of silence, he stepped aside, opening the door wider. Encouraged by the invitation, she quickly stepped inside, and he shut the gates behind her with the same force.

Finally, she could see him fully, no longer hidden behind the ornate doors. He was tall, despite his hunched, worn posture. He wore a tattered, wine-stained white shirt. His hair was long but tangled, falling untidily over his shoulders and back. She had dealt with nobility before, but even then, she had never seen a man like this. Despite the neglect that surrounded him, he resembled a porcelain doll. His skin was smooth, pale, and shiny, his hands well-maintained and untouched by labor. She could tell he had been through a lot recently.

The room she found herself in was vast, dark, and terrifying. There was disorder everywhere—red carpets were dirty with grime, dirt, and blood, and in every corner, she saw clouds of gray dust. But what intrigued her most were the lights. They were not candles, torches, or anything she had seen before. The yellow light surrounding their figures had to be the result of magic, something she had never heard of before.

"Thank you, sir," she finally spoke, looking at him with eyes full of gratitude. Despite the pain searing through every cell of her body, she smiled warmly at him. "I promise I will repay you."

"I don’t need your gratitude," he muttered, his expression unchanged. "Who are you?"

"[Y/N], I come from the north."

She knew he wanted to know more, she saw it in his expectant look, his raised eyebrows betraying his suspicion. But she had no intention of sharing the details of her failed journey with a stranger.

"And you? Who are you?"

"Don’t get ahead of yourself, girl," he snarled, moving dangerously closer to her. But seeing her shrink under the weight of his harsh words, he quickly regained his composure. "I wasn’t expecting guests, I have no room for you."

"I don’t need a room, I can sleep on the floor," she quickly responded, not wanting to anger her grumpy host again. She had met many men on her journey—some cruel, others bitter or vengeful. But she knew his type best—it was better to avoid them, and when she had no choice but to interact with them, she didn’t want to get under their skin, especially not in a moment like this, when she was entirely at his mercy

"I’ve lit the fireplace" he finally said. He turned on his heel and, with a confident step, started walking toward the stairs. She quickly followed in his footsteps, not wanting the stranger to disappear from her sight.

The path to the aforementioned fireplace was long, as the castle was vast. However, she felt as if they had been walking down the same corridor the entire time. The same marble floors, the same cracked stone walls, the same dim lamps providing feeble light.

She could feel the remnants of snow melting on her clothes, soaking into the fabric. Her coat became heavy, pulling her backward. She, however, didn’t say a word, trying to keep pace with the man.

The chamber they entered was the coziest of all the rooms she had seen so far, though it still didn’t fully invite her to spend much time there.

The fireplace was indeed burning, or rather, more like dying out; she saw that no one had added firewood for a long time. The walls were decorated with shelves full of books bound in colorful leathers. In the center of the room stood two chairs, wooden, ornate, covered with red, tufted velvet. On the floor lay several open books, stained with wine, the bottle of which also rested nearby. There was a red carpet on the floor, blood red.

"Warm yourself by the fire" he ordered, seating himself in one of the chairs. She sat down on the carpet, as close to the hearth as possible. She took off her coat, placing it on her lap. She blew on her red, frozen hands and rubbed her stiff legs, trying to restore proper circulation. She could feel the wet clothes sticking to her like a second skin, though she hoped they would dry by morning so she could continue her uneasy journey.

She heard the man slide a glass bottle with his foot, and it tipped over with a crash. However, he didn’t react much, only sighing gloomily.

"What’s a woman like you doing alone in Wallachia these days?" he asked quietly. He didn’t sound particularly interested, perhaps he wanted to break the silence between them, or maybe he didn’t trust her and, to calm the suspicions racing through his mind, needed to learn more about her.

"A woman like me?" she replied with a question of her own, positioning herself sideways to the fireplace so that she could see his face. She pulled her knees to her chest, feeling the flames warming her shoulder and back.

"Defenseless, lost, unprepared for a journey" he remarked, looking at her from beneath his lashes. She studied him suspiciously, trying to read his motives and emotions that drove him that night.

He was distrustful, gloomy, and gruff. It had been a while since she had been treated this way, but nonetheless, the presence of any human being was a welcome relief after weeks of solitary travel. So despite the coldness he showed, she tried to enjoy his company.

"I need to get to the other side of the country to my teacher" she finally replied cautiously, still not revealing too much about herself. He nodded and turned his gaze to the dying fire. He stood up from the chair and, skillfully avoiding her sitting on the carpet, added more wood to the fireplace. The fire crackled cheerfully, and he didn’t take his eyes off it.

"Don’t you have teachers in your lands?"

"Not like these."

He nodded again and then took his seat in the chair.

And silence fell. She wasn’t bothered by it too much. The warmth of the fire was enough for her, his grumpy, distrustful presence, and the comforting knowledge that she wouldn't die buried in snow or torn apart by wolves or other creatures that roamed the land.

"Do you live here alone?" she asked quietly, still hesitant to look in his direction, remembering how he had reacted to her last question. "No servants? I haven’t seen anyone in the castle; it’s rare for the master of the house to greet guests" he continued, not hearing a response to her previous question.

"You’re not my guest, you’re an intruder. I invite guests and expect their arrival."

"It seems you haven’t been expecting any arrivals for a long time."

He smiled under his breath at her audacity. But she was right; he knew that he looked as miserable as the castle. Yet he didn’t feel like thinking about it at all.

Trevor and Sypha had left him a long time ago, the bodies of Sumi and Taka impaled on wooden stakes had almost turned to dust. Since then, he had drowned his sorrows in alcohol, hunted, and tried not to lose his mind with despair and loneliness, burdened by what he had done and could have prevented. He didn’t know if all this despair was doing him any good, but he didn’t know how else to cope with the situation he was in. So he did what he knew and was good at – he drowned in loneliness.

"We’ll spend the night here."

"We?"

"You didn’t think I’d leave you unsupervised, did you?"

She sighed and laid her head on her knees. She didn’t know what to expect, after all, the man had shown himself in the worst light. But she at least wanted to believe that he had some better side.

The warmth and the comfort she felt for the first time in many weeks allowed her to relax a little. She closed her tired eyes, tempted by the convenience of not having to worry about whether she would make it through the night. The situation was certainly not ideal, but it was better than anything she had experienced recently. And for that, she was forever grateful.

She curled up on the carpet, moving even closer to the fire, and soon he heard her steady breathing. Again, he looked at her with distrust, wondering what kind of devil had possessed him when he let her into the castle. He had lived through this story before; he didn’t know why he had been fooled once more. Still, there was no turning back now. This time, however, he knew he had to be more careful. Much more careful. People liked to prey on his sweet, innocent kindness, but he wasn’t going to let himself be used again.

***

The night was long and cold, yet the warmth of the fireplace made it one of the best nights she had had in some time. When she woke up, snow was still hitting the windows, and the fire had long since gone out, leaving behind only the remnants of charred wood.

She raised herself to her knees, and her dry coat slid off her shoulders. Slowly, she stood up, stretching her stiff muscles. She looked around cautiously, but he wasn’t in the room.

She felt pain, sharp and intense, stabbing through her body like a cold dagger. She collapsed back onto her knees, feeling the dizziness come over her. She breathed shallowly, trying to calm her frantic thoughts.

She must have fallen ill. She hadn’t survived the long journey in wet clothes without consequences. She knew she wasn’t fit for travel in this condition, but she had no idea what to do, knowing that her gruff host would not be inclined to allow her to stay in the castle for even a few more days.

"You’re up" he observed as he entered the room. He gave her a piercing look, noticing something was wrong. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands were trembling, and she was breathing heavily. And that could only mean one thing. "Are you unwell?"

"Sorry, but the journey took its toll on me" she rasped through her tight throat, wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead. She was burning with fever, and each word was painful and difficult to speak. "I’m sorry, but I must ask you to shelter me for a few more days. I’ll recover and you won’t see me again…"

"No" he interrupted her firmly, looking at her with the same gaze he had used when he denied her entry to the castle. "Be glad you didn’t freeze to death last night, and get out of here."

She only nodded, perhaps deep down believing that he was somewhat right. He wasn’t obligated to help her, and they were living in tough times, where trust was a reward she clearly hadn’t earned.

Clumsily, she got up from her knees, throwing the coat over her shoulders. She moved toward the door, dragging her heavy legs. As she passed him, she sent him a weak smile, trying in some way to thank him for the scraps of mercy he had shown the previous night.

"A few days" his steel voice stopped her in the doorway. She turned toward him as quickly as her dizziness would allow, resting her hand on the doorframe, giving him a questioning look. "You can stay for a few days, but then I don’t want to see you again."

"Will you tell me your name?"

"Adrian."

***

He prepared a room for her in an even more secluded part of the castle. She slept under a white, warm duvet and never left the room, a rule he strictly warned her about. He brought her bread and warm milk, gave her herbs, and lit the fire in the fireplace. Once, he even offered her wine, which she particularly liked.

Despite the coldness with which he still treated her, he liked her presence. She gave him something to do, and he somewhat treated her like a pet that he had to take care of. He also enjoyed talking to her. The more time he spent in her room, the more she told him about herself. She spoke of her journey, the people she'd met along the way, and the horrors she'd experienced. Despite her condition, she spoke of everything so lightly, warmly, encouragingly, and smiled for both of them.

"Your teacher must be something special if you traveled such a long way for her," he remarked one evening, handing her another cup of yarrow and St. John's wort infusion, the dried herbs he had found in the depths of the pantry.

She only nodded, dipping her lips in the hot liquid. She always became quiet when the subject came up. He didn’t know the reason for that, but he wanted to get something out of her by any means. Perhaps he still didn’t trust her, or maybe he had truly become curious about her, just as a friend becomes curious about another friend.

"She's a witch," she finally answered quietly, without raising her gaze from the steaming mug. The man tensed, not taking his suspicious eyes off her. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began reaching for the dagger nearby. "I am, too."

Silence. Long, filled with heavy tension and her short breaths. She still didn't lift her lost gaze, but he could tell she was tense. He quickly dropped the idea of involving any weapons in the conversation, wanting to listen to what she had to say in peace, so he could make any decision calmly.

"Actually, I'm not traveling, I'm running away." Finally, she looked at him with glassy eyes and clenched her hands around the cup. The memories of that dreadful night came rushing back like a tornado, even though it had happened many months ago. "They burned... they burned my mother, grandmother, sister. They burned them like dogs, like subhumans. And yes, we practiced magic, but for good. People thanked us, kissed my mother’s hands when she saved their loved ones, whom the church had long since cast aside. Or when she poisoned the vile husbands who beat, raped..."

She spoke faster and more desperately. And he couldn’t say a word, because for the first time, he felt like someone might understand him. Someone who had gone through what he had gone through. Someone whose despair tore their heart just like his, and maybe, just maybe, someone he could share that despair with, or perhaps even heal from it?

"My mother was a healer, an intelligent woman whom the church hated. They killed her too," he admitted slowly. "In their eyes, she was sinful because she married a vampire."

The cup slipped from her hand and shattered on the cold floor. With trembling hands, she covered her mouth, holding back a scream that wanted to escape from her throat. Adrian was peculiar, that was true, but she had never imagined that he was the child of such a sin. In her land, vampires were considered a legend, a fairy tale used to scare children.

However, she didn’t say a word. She took a few deep breaths, calming herself slightly. She smiled sweetly at him, and he felt a great weight fall from his heart, though he didn’t really know why. Still, he didn’t want her to be afraid of him.

"I understand."

And that was all that was needed for both of them to breathe a little easier.

[shiklah]

sinners

part II

{part I}

Castlevania

Alucard x reader

After a few days, she was feeling much better. She was tired of lying in bed, even though Adrian kept her company for a few hours each day. To keep from going mad, she asked him to bring her books, anything he had on hand. By now, she had read through most of the local fauna and flora, a multi-volume collection of poetry, mostly tragic rather than uplifting, and even some excerpts from the Bible.

However, idleness was weighing on her more than the illness, so when the morning seemed warm enough, and the sun was still low, she announced that she was ready to continue her journey. She put on her cloak, which, by the way, she had carefully cleaned during those few days of inactivity.

But he wasn't pleased. He had gotten somewhat used to her presence; she kept him occupied, and he took advantage of that. It was hard for him to admit, but he might have even liked her. He realized that he was once again putting himself at risk, and he wasn't sure if she was worth it. His intuition, which could also be wrong, urged him to give her a chance.

He saw that she was tired of staying in one place, but he appreciated that she followed his instructions. He tried to keep her occupied with conversation, short, casual stories from his life, and he brought her books. He was surprised that she could read; she didn't seem to be of noble birth, but he concluded that being able to read was almost necessary for someone who practiced magic.

He liked listening to her talk about her family. About the books full of spells, poison recipes, antidotes, medicines, and elixirs, passed down through generations. She told him that the women in her family had been teaching magic for generations, trying to help other women who needed it. They supported the poor, those rejected by the church and society. They taught that there was always a way out of any situation, and he couldn't help but think how much she reminded him of his mother. So innocent, with a good heart and an open mind, fighting for those who couldn't fight for themselves.

He behaved as coldly and cautiously as he had the night they met, yet he was completely different. His hair was clean and combed, cascading down to his collarbones. His shirt was washed and smelled of soap, fitting snugly around his shoulders and back. His gaze was still menacing, but not as tired. Back then, she could have sworn he was nobility. The grace with which he carried himself, the way he responded to every question, how his pale, delicate skin bore no marks of hard, peasant labor, and how his well-groomed hair shone in the sunlight. Or perhaps all vampires were like that? Proud, cold, beautiful, and noble.

When he led her to the exit, not as firmly as the first night when he took her to the room, she finally had a chance to take a better look at the castle. It was still frightening, but he too looked different. The disarray was gone. The interior smelled of water, desperation, and herbs, the dust covering every possible object was swept away, and even the crookedly hung paintings had been put back in place.

And then a bold thought crossed her mind. Since she had been in the castle, so much had changed, and she hoped it was thanks to her. She could see how hurt and lonely he was. Maybe they didn’t have to become the best of friends right away, but she could make his days a little better, just as she knew best—through conversation, silly jokes, good food, and simply by being there. After all, no one wanted to be alone forever.

"I know I’m asking a lot," she began as they descended the stone stairs. He stopped in mid-step and looked back at her, sending her a questioning glance. She gripped the banister, but didn’t take her uncertain gaze off him. "Would you let me stay here for the winter?"

Something inside him screamed not to agree to it under any circumstances. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let anyone deceive him again or offer help without expecting anything in return. But was this help truly without any expectation? He provided her with food and shelter, but he used her presence whenever he could. He didn’t want her to leave, something he couldn’t fully admit to himself.

"Alright then"

***

She loved to cook, and she did it exceptionally well. Almost every evening, she busied herself in the kitchen, preparing dishes from whatever he managed to buy or hunt.

At first, he would bring whatever he could find at the village market, which was several miles away from the castle, or whatever he managed to hunt in the woods—fish, leftover vegetables, grains. And she never once offered even a word of criticism. She could conjure miracles from anything he brought her.

Previously, he hadn't paid much attention to what he ate; he was more concerned with simply surviving. He ate whatever he could find every few days, just enough to not starve. But with her in mind, he started bringing her tastier and more expensive products day by day. He brought rabbits, venison, or wild boar, treated her to wine and mead, and more and more often bought spices. She still never commented on it, but he could see the satisfaction on her face.

“The last time I ate this well was probably at Louis's court,” she said dreamily, washing the sweet words down with even sweeter wine.

They sat at a small kitchen table. The evening was dark and cold, but she had grown tired of the artificial white light, coaxing Adrian to light some candles. He complied without protest, so only the table, their nearly empty plates, two wine goblets, and their relaxed figures were well-lit.

"You liked the aristocracy," he observed, looking at her with amusement. She often spoke of her visits to various European courts. He didn’t feel she was boasting about it; she just considered it an interesting part of her life. And he listened with interest. He hadn’t had the chance to see much in his own life, so her vivid descriptions of nature, people, and their cultures definitely brightened his winter evenings.

“No. I liked their food, the respect they gave me, the colorful fabrics, and the shiny jewelry. But I honestly despise the aristocracy.”

He laughed low, shaking his head in disbelief. She could read, was intelligent despite not being formally educated, and could find her place in any hut, on any court, in any village or town. Her stories were always interesting and funny, full of flair. If it weren't for the fact that she had admitted to being a witch, he would have been sure she worked in a traveling theater. She had so much charisma that after only a few weeks spent together, he couldn’t imagine a day without her company. She seemed to fill the room with her presence, yet she still respected his space. She didn’t invade his comfort zone, didn’t press him for personal details, and didn’t expect confessions. She simply existed, and he was beginning to feel like she existed just for him.

***

Day by day, he showed her more and more. He took her to the library, large and spacious, filled to the brim with books, mostly about magic and herbalism, which didn’t surprise her too much.

He showed her his father's workshop, full of colorful glass, maps, and instruments with names she didn’t know. She didn’t know if every vampire was a witch, but his father seemed to be one. Or maybe it was his mother who practiced magic? She had no idea, didn’t want to ask, and honestly, it shouldn’t have concerned her. What mattered was that Adrian had freely allowed her to settle into that workshop.

So, nearly every day, she spent several hours expanding her magical skills. She wasn’t a sorceress; she couldn’t weave the elements like some mages could. But she could prepare spells and curses, conduct rituals, and celebrate sabbats, which she used to spend with her family.

And he liked to sit in the workshop with her. They would get lost in books, she would tell him about family traditions and herbs, make potions, some more successful than others. He couldn’t take his admiring eyes off her when he saw her joy, enthusiasm, and eagerness to learn, to continue what generations of women before her had passed down. She was so full of life and happiness that he envied her dedication.

***

She saw how, day by day, he was changing a little. More and more often, he greeted her with sweet smiles rather than venomous glares. He let her move freely around the castle, even showing her his modestly furnished room. He gave her books that he knew she would be interested in. He found herbs for her that she could use. He complimented her cooking, her work ethic, and her literary taste. She felt that he was blooming, that he was starting to show her his sweet, sticky, pleasant side, which he had once hidden like the greatest treasure. And she couldn’t help but fall for the man he was becoming.

However, that was one of the secrets she wasn’t going to share with him. He was kind, understanding, non-judgmental. He listened to everything she said and remembered every detail. He was simply a charming man, one she was ready to lose her head for.

“I found an entire book dedicated solely to wormwood,” he began, entering the room—the same one where she had spent her first night in the castle. The fire was crackling merrily, just as it had that night, and the evening was as cold and deadly as it had been, but this time, she wasn’t sitting on the carpet. She was in one of the red chairs. “Are you really interested in it?”

“I’ll let you know once I’ve read it.” She smiled and took the book from his hands. He laughed softly and sat in the chair next to her.

“Will you tell me what happened to your father?”

He instantly turned his horrified gaze to her. However, her eyes were fixed on the family portrait hanging above the fireplace. She knew that little child had to be him—he had the same shiny hair and eyes, so innocent and good. He was cradled in the arms of a woman, dignified but so pleasant to behold. She was beautiful, delicate, rosy-cheeked.

And towering over them was he. A tall, dark figure with red eyes, long nails, and pointed ears. He looked like a demon pulled from the depths of hell, but she wasn’t afraid of him. His expression was calm, filled with all the love he had for his family.

Adrian often spoke of his mother, always in the highest regard. In his stories, he portrayed Lisa as a lover of science and people, an idealist who, even in the last moments of her life, begged for mercy for her captors. Someone inspiring, loving, and compassionate.

He never spoke of his father. She didn’t even know his name, but she realized that it was a sensitive topic for him. A subject that was the source of his despair. She was sure that Adrian had witnessed much cruel death.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“I killed him.”

Silence. Heavy, muffled, gripping his heart, stopping his breath. He shouldn’t trust her, shouldn’t open up to her so naively, shouldn’t expose himself to pain and suffering again.

She leaned forward in the chair, taking his cold, trembling hand in her warm, delicate one. He first looked at their intertwined hands and then into her eyes, where he saw no hatred or disgust. He saw compassion, which was also reflected in the gentle half-smile on her face.

***

When he lay alone in bed at night, without her cheerful personality, her sweet voice chattering in his ear, or the warm smiles she graced him with at every opportunity, he felt most keenly the impact she had on his life.

He loved making her happy, and she didn’t need much for that. He cherished the brief moments when their hands brushed while reaching for the same book, or when she deliberately intertwined her fingers with his while dreamily reminiscing about her late loved ones. He adored it when she complimented his long hair, sometimes absentmindedly running her fingers through it. He couldn’t shake the memories of the moments when she looked deep into his eyes, unable to stop talking about their peculiar color. He gladly took part in all the rituals that meant so much to her. He helped her gather the herbs she spoke of with such passion.

She had become his entire world. He fell asleep thinking only of her, and when he woke, she was the first thing he looked for. He longed to be close to her, to have her entirely for himself, forever, so no one could ever hurt her again or make her feel unwanted, out of place, or unnecessary. He wanted to gather her into his arms, hold her as tightly as possible, and whisper sweet words of comfort in her ear so she could do the same for him. She was the one he waited for, the one he desired. The rest of the world could cease to exist if only she could stay by his side.

But winter was coming to an end, and she spoke more often of leaving. She stocked up supplies, transcribed passages from books, and generally kept herself busy. What else could he do but support her? So he gathered and transcribed alongside her, just to savor her presence for as long as possible.

"The snow is melting, and the days are getting longer," she remarked one evening as they sat down to dinner, as they had grown accustomed to doing. He only nodded slowly, not saying a word. He knew what her words meant. "I’m planning to leave at dawn."

The fork slipped from his hand, clattering loudly onto the plate. He knew she intended to leave, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

"Are you sure you want to leave tomorrow?"

"Would you prefer me to stay longer?"

"Yes."

His straightforwardness, so uncharacteristic of him, caught her off guard. She looked at him in surprise but was far from displeased. It was exactly the response she had hoped for—simple, giving her the reassurance that he wasn’t tired of her presence, but rather the opposite.

"If you leave, I’ll commit the greatest sin I can imagine – letting you disappear from my life."