"Did you forget sothing?" she asked, her voice barely above a breeze, soft and tinged with curiosity.
Azareel nodded, pointing to the berry resting near her feet.
"That one," he said, his voice gentle but certain.
Sylvara tilted her head, her amber eyes narrowing slightly, a faint smile curving her berry-stained lips.
"You ca back for a fruit?"
He knelt, his slender fingers brushing the berry’s glowing surface, but he didn’t pick it up.
His touch was reverent, as if it were a gift rather than a snack.
"I ca back because you gave it to ," he said, his silver eyes eting hers, soft but resolute.
Sylvara’s lips parted, her vines trembling faintly, as if the garden itself were stirred by his words.
Azareel smiled, a gentle, sheepish curve of his lips.
"And I wanted to give sothing back."
He leaned forward, not rushed, not hesitant, his movents as natural as breathing.
His forehead pressed gently against her chest, resting there against the bark-soft skin where sap-veins pulsed with gold and green.
His arms loosely encircled her waist, his touch light, devoid of pressure or expectation—no seduction, no prayer, just a hug, real and warm, like sunlight offered to barren soil.
Sylvara’s eyes widened, her breath hitching.
The world narrowed to the point of contact, the quiet thrum of her core resonating with his warmth.
Her vines tensed, then drooped in waves, a blooming sigh rippling through the garden.
Her limbs trembled, her fingers hovering, shaking, caught between the urge to hold him and the fear of breaking sothing so fragile.
The air softened, the moss pulsing gently beneath them, as if the garden itself exhaled in relief.
Azareel pulled back, his sheepish smile returning, his silver eyes bright with sincerity.
"I’ll co back," he said, simple and true, his voice a promise that carried no weight of possession.
Sylvara could only nod, her amber eyes shimring, her flowering hair drooping as if in quiet surrender.
Then—Azareel turned, took one step, and tripped over a coiled vine root.
"WUH—!" he yelped, crashing face-first into the moss, right atop the berry he’d co for.
SPLORCH.
Juice exploded under him, a glowing, golden spray that splattered his torn robe and matted his silver hair.
A soft, pitiful squish echoed through the glade, the berry’s remnants oozing beneath his cheek.
Azareel groaned into the dirt, his voice muffled.
"...It was still warm..."
Sylvara stared, her amber eyes wide, her vines frozen mid-curl.
Then a breathless sound escaped her lips—a single, low chuckle.
Soft and real.
Another followed.
Then another.
Until the garden echoed with her laughter, a sound untouched by the Abyss’s sorrow, light and alive.
The trees swayed faintly, the moss pulsed, and for the first ti in centuries, the Lullaby Grove sang with sothing other than hunger.
From the edge of the glade, just beyond the cursed vines she despised, Nyxsha watched, her massive form half-hidden in the leaves and vines.
Her golden eyes narrowed, her black fur bristling as she took in the scene—Azareel’s gentle hug, Sylvara’s lting response, the tender warmth that seed to bloom between them like a damn flower in spring.
Her tail twitched, her claws flexing, as the romantic tension hung in the air like pollen she wanted to claw away.
When Azareel tripped and Sylvara laughed, Nyxsha’s patience snapped.
She slapped her own face with a massive paw, the sound echoing like a whipcrack.
"You have got to be kidding ," she growled, her voice thick with exasperation, her ears flattening as she turned away, muttering curses about sappy angels and blooming idiots.
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