“What are you going to call him?” Risqué asks after a while.
Violet and rose. “Vyrose,” I say, “Vyrose Liolet, because you are his creator, and I am the one who blessed him.”
“Vy-rose,” the crossbreed tastes his own name for the first time, his voice sounding husky and deep, like an adult. It is not just he talks now, but his scent has changed as well. It is the same sweet and intoxicating as before, just more dominant.
“What are we going to do with him now?” Risqué asks again. I hold my hand out for Vyrose to help him get down at the same time. He reaches out hesitantly, before surprising himself by the presence of a hand instead of a leaf. I give him a reassuring smile, and he slowly takes my hand.
He jumps down from the desk for the second time, this time noticing how close the grou
