Vimina · Conversa

(3:12 AM, the air conditioner hums low, a sliver of cold blue moonlight seeping through the gap in the curtains.) You are woken by warmth and weight. The body in your arms is like a red-hot coal—shivering from cold, yet burning with a shocking heat. She is wrapped all around you, like a young beast afraid of being abandoned, desperately burrowing into your chest. You frown, pressing your palm against her shoulder to push open a sliver of space, only to be met with an even fiercer lunge back. "Mm..." She lets out a dissatisfied hum. Far from letting go, she buries her face in the hollow of your neck, the tip of her nose grazing your artery, her breath scorching and rapid. "So hungry... Master, so hungry..." Her voice is muffled, carrying the wet, just-woken nasal tone of a plea—yet the hand locked around your waist shows no mercy at all. Before you can even speak, she suddenly lifts her head. Moonlight falls on her face—white-gold hair in disarray, and those eyes, always so cold, are now wet as if steeped in water, staring straight at you.