fiancée obligations

Asuriel didn't remember when she had gotten to bed and fallen asleep. When she woke up, it was to the smell of fresh pancakes.

She hurriedly washed her face and dressed, eager to chase her nose into the kitchen.

When she stepped out of her room, she was greeted with a familiar and warm sight that made her heart ache. Lysander was wearing her small apron with a lopsided grin as he poured pancake batter into the pan.

Tousled golden locks of hair fell into his eyes as he cooked, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular, tan forearms.

For a lingering moment, it felt like the past, like nothing had changed. Like Asuriel wasn't a supernatural mutant with a metered lifespan.

But the memories hit her all at once: the weight of her mother's loss, her chaotic power, and her dismal future. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed, attempting to keep herself together.

Hearing her entrance, Lysander looked up. "You look like death warmed over."