Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. - Kahlil Gibran
A chill is in the air. My breath produces a white cloud of mist when exhaling. Clasping the edge of Vlad's shirt and wrapping it around my body, I wonder if he's cold like me but just doesn't show it. Or does his kind truly not feel cool temperatures?
The pond casts a different appearance now, one I've never seen before. It no longer holds the promise of tranquility, nor does it feel like the refuge of my past - then I had come to depend upon.
I inhale the brisk, moist air to calm my nerves, but even that does little to change my current dark mood.
Morph nips at my fingers. His rough tongue scrapes across the tip of my thumb, trying to comfort me. My eyes water, but I fight to hold back t
