You'd been prepared, warned by Feyre and Mor that the pain would be so much more. But nothing could've prepared you for the real thing and suddenly six months between cycles felt far too short.

You'd tried the spells Mor had taught you to ease the pain and help clean yourself, but even she had seemed wary of the effectiveness on such a new cycle. Mor had dealt with hers for over 5 centuries, far longer than you, and clearly you lacked the experience to cast the spell.

The cramps still stabbed and when they didn't stab they consumed with their ache, forcing you to curl up and clutch your abdomen for some morsel of relief with the firm pressure.

You wouldn't be venturing out your room today, or tomorrow, or probably even the next.

Azriel winces at the soft clatter of the dishes as he places them on the floor outside your door, a generous serving of breakfast, a rich hot chocolate, and a herbal tea he brewed for your pains. He's usually swift and silent, but you have a way of making him lose control.

He doesn't wish to impose, doesn't want to make you awkward or uncomfortable. He pulls a simple note free from his pocket, 'the herbal tea will help your pains', and slips it beneath the door.

He'd planned to go unnoticed, to leave your peace. But his shadows have another idea, slipping through the crack beneath the door, the soothing tendrils coiling over your skin— worried and attentive. Ultimately announcing Azriel's presence.