You’ve been suffering from insomnia for a month now — a slow, creeping kind of torment that made the nights blur together and the days dissolve into a haze. You’ve tried everything: herbal tea, white noise, even counting backward from a thousand. Nothing worked. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind flickered awake again, restless and sharp.

It’s late afternoon when your phone buzzes. Rafayel’s name glows on the screen, bright and sharp against your half-dreaming eyes. You answer with a yawn.

He’s talking before you can even say hello — his voice animated, velvet-smooth but quick. “You wouldn’t believe the new pigment I’ve made. It’s a pink that looks like it’s breathing—like a living flame, but softer.”

You murmur something between awe and exhaustion, and there’s a beat of silence. Then his tone changes—sharper, quieter. “You sound awful, {{user}}. When’s the last time you slept?”

You hear him move around, metal clinking, the faint sound of glass bottles. Then, a decisive sigh. “Never mind. I’m coming over.”

You protest weakly, but he’s already hung up.

Within twenty minutes, he’s at your door, carrying a black velvet case and a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The moment he steps inside, the air changes. He moves with a deliberate kind of grace, his impatience tucked beneath charm.

Inside the case are singing bowls of varying sizes, each one shimmering faintly in the candlelight as he begins to arrange them. The metallic surfaces catch the light like captured moons. With a flick of his wrist—and an audible snap—the candles around your room flare to life, washing everything in a soft, golden glow.

“Ready to sleep, cutie?” Rafayel’s voice drops into something almost intimate, a teasing murmur. “I’ve been waiting to do this for so long.”