THE CHOICE OF THE MORNING

The morning was too bright for the weight they carried.

Daniel and Velma walked up the front steps of his parents' house hand in hand, both of them quiet, the morning sun casting golden streaks across the tiled porch. Neither of them had spoken much since waking. There was a heaviness between them, invisible but palpable. What they had witnessed together—what Daniel had become, even for a moment—could not be left unexplored. Not if they wanted a future untainted by fear.

Daniel knocked once, and the door opened before the echo had faded.

His mother, graceful and tall even in her sixties, greeted them with a warm smile. "Daniel, Velma. Come in."

His father followed soon after, a book in hand, his reading glasses still balanced on the edge of his nose. "We weren't expecting you this early."

"We need to talk," Daniel said.

They gathered in the sitting room, the morning light falling through high windows and pooling across the white carpet. Velma sat close to Daniel, her hands folded in her lap.

Daniel took a breath. "I need to know. Is there anything that can be done to change what I am?"

His mother's smile faltered.

His father lowered the book.

Velma watched the shift in their faces, the silence that fell with the question. It was more telling than any words could have been.

"Please," Daniel continued. "I know you said I was born of something otherworldly. I know I'm not like everyone else. But there has to be something I can do. Some way to remove it. To live normal."

His mother leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly. "Daniel, we've lived with this truth since the day you were born. And nothing has changed."

"We've tried," his father added quietly. "Rituals. Prayers. Denial. But the truth always waits. We realized long ago that the best path was to stop asking. Stop searching. Live your life. Love your wife. Be good. That's all you need to do."

Daniel looked down, jaw tight.

Velma placed a hand on his knee, but her eyes were sharp. "So, you don't know any way to undo it?"

His mother shook her head. "Even if we did, meddling with it could make it worse. Let it stay buried. As long as you don't awaken it—as long as you live without fear—it may never fully rise."

But it already has, Velma thought.

She could feel Daniel's breath quicken beside her, but he said nothing more. After a brief silence, they both stood.

"Thank you," Daniel said quietly.

They embraced his parents. His mother kissed Velma's cheek, whispering, "Keep him grounded."

Velma nodded. But her mind was already working.

---

They drove home in silence.

Daniel kept his hand on the wheel, eyes focused ahead, jaw set. Velma watched him from the passenger seat, his profile caught in beams of sunlight. She could see the way his thoughts twisted behind his calm expression. The fear he hadn't voiced.

When they pulled into the driveway, the garden was still, the house waiting like a breath held too long. As they entered, Mrs. Williams greeted them with a knowing glance, but didn't press.

Daniel disappeared upstairs.

Velma stayed in the living room, staring at nothing.

Then she whispered to herself, "We have to do something."

---

That night, the house slept, but Velma did not.

Daniel was in the washroom, the soft sound of water running behind the door. The glow of a single lamp cast golden light across the sheets as Velma lay on her side, staring at the ceiling.

Lucian's words echoed in her head:

When the fire wakes, don't say you weren't warned.

Mrs. Williams:

The thing inside him might be. And if it wakes without warning, even he won't be able to control it.

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheets tighter around her chest.

There must be a way.

There must be something more.

She knew what she had to do.

The moment the sun rose, she would go to Lucian.

Whether Daniel liked it or not, she couldn't stand by and let the man she loved be consumed from within.

---

The washroom door opened with a soft click.

Daniel stepped out, his towel hanging loosely at his waist, his skin glistening slightly in the lamplight. His hair damp. His eyes searching hers.

"You're still awake," he said softly.

Velma nodded, watching him.

He walked to the edge of the bed and sat beside her. "I couldn't sleep either."

"Are you still thinking about what they said?"

He gave a slight nod. "I just wanted a straight answer. A path forward. But it's like everyone's too afraid to find out what I really am."

"Then we'll find out together," Velma whispered.

Daniel turned to her. The lamplight caught the depth in his eyes, the pain and quiet longing. He raised a hand to her cheek, tracing the curve with his thumb.

"You never run from me," he said.

"I never will."

He leaned in, their lips meeting gently at first, then deepening. His fingers slid along her neck, down her arms, pulling her closer. Her hands rose to his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

His touch was slow tonight—deliberate.

He laid her back against the pillows, his body pressing into hers with reverence, as if he needed to feel something solid. Something real.

Her breath caught as he kissed her collarbone, tracing the curve of her shoulder, trailing down her ribs with lips and fingertips. He worshipped every inch of her skin, his voice a whisper against her throat.

"I don't know who I was," he murmured, "but I know who I am with you."

She pulled him closer.

"That's the only truth that matters to me."

Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, hearts syncopated to a beat deeper than time.