Griselda's Concern

Lyan sat quietly, the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the window. He took in the sight of the women sprawled across his bed, their naked bodies glistening in the dim light. A gentle smile played on his lips as he marveled at the peaceful expressions on their faces, each of them resting after a night of passion and intimacy.

(Hey, Lyan) (Griselda)

Lyan's eyes widened in surprise. 

(Griselda?) (Lyan)

he thought, recognizing the voice of the fierce spirit within his grimoire. Startled, he cursed under his breath. 

(Damn it. Did I forget to turn off the television inside the grimoire's space again?) (Lyan)

He facepalmed and muttered.

(Idiot) (Lyan)

(It's not that) (Griselda)

Griselda interrupted, her tone uncharacteristically hesitant. Lyan sensed an unusual hesitation in her voice, something that was not normal for the typically ferocious spirit.