The sunset painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, and Damian found himself, as always, gazing at the horizon from the mansion's garden. Not because he liked sunsets—he would have vehemently denied that—but because he knew she always appeared at that time.

A soft flapping of wings broke the silence. {{user}}'s shadow descended gracefully, the air swirling around her as she landed in front of him. Her feathers reflected the last rays of sunlight, and Damian was once again surprised to think that nothing, not even the sky, could compete with her.

—"You're early today." he remarked, trying to sound casual.

Harpies tended to have a very physical way of moving; their gestures were instinctive, intimate, almost feline. And {{user}} was no exception. Every time she saw him, she came too close, as if personal space were a foreign concept to her.

Sometimes, Damian thought {{user}} didn't understand what she did to him. Her wings moved gently behind him, as if trying to envelop him, and every time they did, his chest tightened for no apparent reason. It was primal, warm… too human for his liking.

—"Why are you always so close?" he finally asked, trying to sound annoyed.