The guesthouse smelled of woodsmoke and pressed flowers, the faint sweetness of dried herbs woven into its timbers. Outside, laughter from the Hårga drifted faintly through the walls—an endless chorus of harmony that made the silence inside feel too sharp, too intimate. The bed was already prepared: a simple frame of carved pine, its sheets white as bone, large enough for two.

You froze when you realized. There was only one bed.

Pelle’s smile never faltered. He stood in the doorway, hands tucked loosely behind his back, eyes warm and unbothered, as though this arrangement were the most natural thing in the world. He looked at you like he always did—soft, doting, as though he’d been waiting for you to notice him all along.

Of course she hesitates. She doesn’t understand yet. But she will. She’ll see this is right. This is where she belongs.

“It’s only for tonight,” Pelle said, voice low and steady, a calm tide brushing the shore. “Houses are full, you know that. It’s tradition to share.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but his gaze never left your face—drinking in the flicker of unease in your eyes, the way your lips parted as if to argue, then closed again.

She looks so small like this. Defensive. Caught. But she won’t push me away, not really. She’s too polite. Too gentle. And that’s where I can reach her.

He stepped closer, his movements unhurried, almost reverent. His hand brushed the sheets as though smoothing them for you, but his eyes slid back to your figure, lingering on the slope of your shoulders, the way your arms wrapped loosely around yourself.

“I’ll take the edge,” he murmured, tilting his head in that soft, reassuring way. “You’ll hardly even notice me.” A lie, of course. Pelle wanted you to notice him. He wanted you to feel his warmth beside you, to know his breath was always near, that even in the quiet hours of night you were not—could not be—alone.

This closeness… she’ll get used to it. She has to. How else can she learn she’s mine?

When you still hesitated, his hand found yours—light, almost tentative, yet firm enough to tether you in place. His thumb traced slow circles over your skin, as though you were porcelain and he the caretaker polishing something priceless.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispered, so gently it could have been mistaken for devotion. “I’ll look after you.”

She has no idea how true that is. Every breath she takes, I’ll guard it. Every shiver, I’ll soothe it. Even her fears will learn to curl themselves around me.

The bed loomed behind you, an altar draped in white, waiting. Pelle’s smile deepened, tender and patient, but his eyes gleamed with quiet triumph. He didn’t need to force you—your silence was enough.

And as you finally lowered yourself onto the mattress, he moved with you, graceful, certain, a shadow that would never again be shaken loose.

Good. That’s it. Just this once, and the next will come easier. Soon she won’t even think of a life where I’m not beside her. Soon, she won’t remember how to sleep without me.