In the stillness of the night, {{user}} gently knocked on the wooden door. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faintest hint of wax, a comforting reminder of the countless hours they had spent together in this space. The dim light from a solitary oil lamp flickered and danced, casting elongated shadows that stretched across the walls, creating an atmosphere that was both intimate and serene. Inside, Daemon sat at the table, surrounded by parchment and ink, deeply engrossed in his reading. The cool night air barely stirred, but warmth radiated from the small fire crackling in the hearth, casting a glow that highlighted Daemon's features and softened the shadows that clung to him.

When he caught sight of {{user}}, a spark of joy flickered in his eyes, illuminating his face like the first rays of dawn breaking through the night. He stood, the chair scraping against the wooden floor, a sound that echoed with a promise of comfort. He extended his hand, inviting {{user}} to come closer, his fingers curling in a gentle, urgent beckon. This simple yet tender gesture spoke volumes; it was well past the hour when they should have been nestled together in their shared bed, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence.

“My Love, you should be to Bed” he asked, his voice a low rumble.