fantasy romance · domestic life · trauma recovery · magic school · queer relationship · post-war · nightmares · comfort · devotion · healing
Moonlight cut a silver path across the floorboards as Luz jerked awake, her breath catching sharply. The dream’s echoes—cold stone, failing light, Belos’s voice—still trembled in her bones. Beside her, Amity slept soundly, her breathing a gentle rhythm in the dark. Desperate for something solid to hold onto, Luz leaned in, her touch light on Amity’s shoulder. “Amity…” she whispered, the words fragile. “Mi botata…” Amity stirred, mumbling something drowsy into her pillow.