Orelious steps out into the hallway, his footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floor. He bids farewell to Reed and Frederick, who exchange nods with him. Their expressions are full of unspoken understanding.
With a final glance over his shoulder, Orelious re-enters the room to find Imogen and me asleep. He closes the door softly behind him. The atmosphere changes, imbued with a mix of tenderness and longing. He approaches Imogen's slumbering form, his movements graceful and deliberate. Carefully, he settles beside her, mindful not to disturb Mister Kal, who curls up at the foot of the bed.
Moonlight spills through the window, casting a silvery glow upon their intertwined figures. Orelious's hand gently brushes against Imogen's cheek, his touch as soft as a whisper. His eyes, full of adoration and devotion, trace the delicate lines of her features. He is captivated by her peaceful countenance, his heart swelling with affection.
Orelious leans closer, his lips barely grazing Imogen's ear as he utters the sweetest words. His voice weaves through her dreams, leaving traces of enchantment in its wake. Each word is a declaration of love, a promise of eternal devotion. His whispers carry the weight of his desires and the depth of his emotions.
Imogen stirs, a contented smile playing upon her lips as she delves deeper into her dreams. Her dream is adorned with visions of Orelious, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. Her heart dances to the rhythm of his words, entwining their souls with affection and longing.
As I rouse from slumber, my eyes widen at the sight of Orelious seated by Imogen's side, presenting a tray filled with a feast of delectable dishes. In his hand, he plucks a peculiar grape, its appearance unusual and enticing. With a mischievous smile, he places it delicately into Imogen's waiting mouth. 'Oh...' she utters, savouring the flavour. 'It tastes like candy,' she moans in delight.
The rumble of my stomach echoes loudly, causing both Orelious and Imogen to hear its hungry plea. With a glimmer of hope, I ask, 'Some of that is for me, right?' A tinge of anticipation lacing my words.
Orelious scoffs dismissively, his gaze drifting towards Imogen. 'You are not my responsibility,' he retorts, his voice laced with cold indifference. I growl low, wounded by his callous disregard.
Tossing aside the woollen blanket that cloaks me, I rise from the bed, my steps heavy with resentment. My feet carry me begrudgingly towards the door, fuelled with frustration and disappointment. 'This is just great!' I exclaim, my voice dripping with anger as I flail my arms in exasperation. 'It's bad enough that I have to endure Xander, but now it seems you'll be another blasted hex I now have to tolerate,' I say angrily.
Donning my cloak, I pull the hood over my head to conceal my ears. Slamming the door shut behind me, I storm down the stairs and plop myself theatrically onto a nearby table, exhaling a heavy sigh of discontent.
Caught off guard, the wind fae appears before me, her playful voice piercing through my frustration. 'Why so glum?' she inquires, her presence as refreshing as a cool breeze. I muster a half-hearted smile, appreciating her attempt to lift my spirits. 'Oh, it's nothing. I just came to the realisation that vampires suck, literally,' I respond.
The wind fae bursts into laughter, her mirth filling the air. 'Oh, you are quite the jester,' she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with amusement. I find solace in her light-heartedness. The weight on my shoulders momentarily lifts.
Returning her smile, I express my curiosity. 'I never got your name,' I remark, eager to know the identity of this delightful fae. 'Gale,' she responds kindly.
I introduce myself, the tension fading away. 'I'm Rose,' I offer, grateful for the newfound connection.
‘So, tell me, Rose. What would you like for breakfast?’ she asks.
‘Anything that consists of nothing but meat, rare meat,’ I grin.
Gale ponders for a moment, her head tilting to the side in contemplation. 'We have the Mean Mega Monstrous Meaton Meal, but it's typically reserved for dinner. However, I can relay your joke to the witches, and they might make an exception for you,' she suggests, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
Grinning with delight, I reply eagerly, ‘Okay, thanks!’
Gale's expression brightens, her response accompanied by a friendly wink. 'Consider it done,' she assures me.
‘Oh, before I go. It is the most expensive meal on the menu. Is that going to be a problem?’ Gale asks.
My smile widens, ‘No,’ I say, waving my hand, ‘just put it on Xander’s tab,’ I tell her.
Gales smiles, nods and walks to the kitchen.
Utilising my heightened wolf hearing, I catch snippets of Gale's conversation with the three witches. 'Rose said she just realised that vampires suck, literally,' she relays, prompting an uproarious cackle of laughter from the witches.
It doesn't take long before a magnificent plate, towering with a mountain of succulent meat, floats toward my table, landing before me with a touch of enchantment.
'Woah!' I exclaim, my mouth watering at the sight.
Standing over a foot high, the tower of meat beckons my primal instincts with its awe-inspiring presence. Thick, juicy meaton steaks, resembling colossal pancakes, are expertly stacked atop one another, with each piece accompanied by bacon-like meat beneath. The aroma of sizzling meat fills the air, enticing me to take a bite. With eager anticipation, I seize the topmost steak and sink my teeth into its succulent flesh.
The outer edges of the steak have been lightly seared, giving way to a mouth-watering crust, while the interior remains raw and delightfully bloody. The flavours explode in my mouth, reminiscent of perfectly barbecued beef. As I relish the meat's tenderness, to my astonishment, the bacon-like strips beneath offer a surprising twist—they taste like roasted lamb, their rich flavours blending with the beef flavour.
Driven by a primal hunger, I devour the entire monstrous meaton feast within minutes, my voracious appetite sated. A low rumble of satisfaction escapes my throat as my primal instincts take hold, momentarily casting aside the civilised veneer.
Just as I prepare to indulge in the lingering juices on the plate with a teasing lick of my tongue, an invisible force jerks it from my grasp, whisking it back to the kitchen. I watch, disappointed but not surprised, as my fleeting connection with the remnants of the feast is severed.