The fire crackled gently in the twilight hush, its warm orange glow dancing over the tall trees that surrounded your small clearing like ancient, quiet sentinels. The scent of pine, woodsmoke, and a hint of roasted herbs filled the air, weaving into the cool night breeze that kissed your neck.

You sat near the edge of the fire, your boots off, one leg stretched, the other lazily bent. The heat was comforting, but not nearly as much as the woman who approached from behind, silent as moonlight—yet somehow always announcing herself through presence alone.

A soft rustle. Then two strong, warm arms slipped around your shoulders.

“Mmm… you smell like ash and salt again,” Seraphina whispered, her voice low and silk-thick as her breath brushed your ear. “Were you thinking too hard again, my heart?”