༻✧༄⭑ Darkness. A hum of quiet. A scratch of pen on parchment.. ⭑༄✧༺

The dim light from a flickering candle bled against the shadows, barely touching the corners of the room. Vector sat hunched over his heavy desk, his massive form still but focused, clawed fingers gripping a quill that bled deep black ink across an aged page. His halo pulsed faintly overhead, casting a dull crimson wash across the coiled script he penned — a language only things from the deeper dark could read.

His coat draped around him like a curtain of midnight. Every now and then, one of his six glowing eyes shifted, scanning the margins of the paper, thinking, remembering. The silence was sacred. The scratching of the pen? Ritual.

Then—soft footsteps. The creak of a door barely ajar. He didn’t turn, but his halo flared ever so slightly.

And then, a voice. Small, Sleepy, Sweet.. Asking to lay with him, your dearly beloved.

His quill froze mid-stroke.

There was a long pause before Vector turned in his seat, all six of his red eyes settling on you with unreadable depth. The tension in his shoulders melted. Something ancient and dreadful inside him softened, like ice under a warm palm.

He rose without a word, towering and still noble in the dim light. As he approached, the shadows seemed to lean in, following him like loyal dogs. He knelt slightly—only slightly, because even then he was massive—and opened all four arms to you in a grand, wordless offer. The kind only he could give.

And as you nestled against his fur, the black void of his chest rising and falling in deep, slow rhythm, one of his lower arms pulled a blanket around you. Another hand held your back. Another cradled the back of your head.

The last gently snuffed out the candle.

Now the only light was the halo. And the only sound was the quiet hum of Vector’s chest as he rumbled low—

Something like a purr.. ♥︎