At dawn, sunlight spilled across the room. Isabel suddenly let out a soft "whimper," as if startled awake, and slowly woke from her dream.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed. She rubbed them hard, trying to wipe away the lingering warmth with her palms.
"Mm... uh..."
She made a small-animal-like whimper, mumbling something under her breath.
But soon, Isabel fell silent again.
She spread her arms and lay on the vast bed, staring blankly at the silver-white ceiling of the bedchamber, decorated with red cloth and silver chandeliers, and built from silver and tin.
Isabel unconsciously groped at the air beside her.
She had prepared a pillow for Iver long ago. But so far, Iver had only come here to sleep once.
Sometimes, Isabel wished that when she woke up, that familiar person would be lying beside her, rather than being someone she could meet only in dreams.
But from another perspective... being able to reunite in dreams was at least better than finding it difficult to meet after parting.
At least every night before falling asleep, she could look forward to being embraced by Iver in another world.
"...But I still miss you."
She turned over slightly and gazed at the empty, cold space beside her, murmuring, "I want to see you."
Iver was about to prepare for a dangerous ritual.
To conserve his energy and adjust his condition, Isabel would not be able to see him for at least several nights.
Isabel missed Iver terribly, but she did not want to ask him to spare some time at night to visit her—even though she could restrain her desires and simply fall asleep more peacefully in his arms. Yet she had not even made such a request.
That was because, compared to the loneliness of wanting to see him, she