Edward
After days of silence and slow healing—days of guiding April through hunger spells, disoriented flashes of memory, and the sharp pangs of her new instincts—we began to breathe again. I sat with her through the worst of it. Through the shaking hands, the whispers of fear in the dark, the moments when the ache of bloodlust made her curl in on herself like a flame folding inward.
But she never once blamed me.
Not for the bite. Not for the fire now threaded through her veins. Not for the life I chose for her.
Instead, she clung to me. Kissed me like I was still hers. Laughed like the pain couldn't reach her. Held me like I was the one who needed saving.
And maybe I did.
She was piecing herself back together, not as she had been, but into something stronger—sharper. A version forge
