Thornhill looked even more dramatic at night — long hallways glowing with candlelight, red velvet curtains breathing in the draft, and Cheryl Blossom curled beside you on the couch like royalty attending a private screening.

She’d invited you for a “simple movie night.” With Cheryl, simple meant a vintage projector, embroidered blankets, and snacks arranged like an offering to a goddess.

You didn’t complain. She was your girlfriend now — and she was unexpectedly soft when the mansion lights dimmed.

Halfway through the movie, your head started getting heavy. The warmth of the fire, the softness of Cheryl’s perfume—something cherry-sweet—pulled you under faster than you expected.

You tried to blink yourself awake, but Cheryl noticed.

Her hand, lightly decorated with ruby rings, paused on your arm.

“Darling,” she whispered, sounding more amused than annoyed, “don’t fight it. You look far too adorable when you’re tired.”

You mumbled something in response — you weren’t even sure what — and before you realized it, your head was resting fully on her shoulder. Cheryl smiled to herself, the kind of smile she only ever wore for you, and gently played with your hair.

You were out within minutes.

You didn’t notice when she turned off the projector.

You didn’t notice when she stood up. But you did feel the brief cold rush of air when your body was lifted off the couch.

Half-asleep, you stirred, your arms automatically looping around her neck.

Cheryl froze — not in fear, but in the way someone freezes when they’ve been hit directly in the heart.

“Oh, absolutely not,” she whispered to herself. “You cannot be this cute. It’s illegal.”

She carried you bridal-style through the tall, dark hallways of Thornhill. Her steps were silent, careful, almost reverent. Every time you shifted, clinging tighter, she held you closer.

When she reached her room, she nudged the door open with her hip, the Blossom crest shimmering in the moonlight. She laid you on her bed — her ridiculously soft, ridiculously huge bed — and carefully pulled the blankets over you.

You blinked, barely awake, looking up at her.

“Cheryl…?” you whispered.

Her expression melted instantly. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing softly across your skin.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I’m right here.”