Malvor stared.Then blinked.Then leaned back, running a hand down his face.
"What. The actual. Hell, Annie?!"
Anastasia picked up her coffee, completely unfazed.
"What?"
"What?!"He gestured wildly at her, looking like his entire existence had been personally offended."You! You had that dream for months? That is not a dream, Annie, that is a cursed prophecy of suffering!"
She shrugged.
"It was probably just growing pains."
Malvor stared harder.
"GROWING PAINS?!" he all but shouted.
"Yeah," she continued, completely unbothered."I had them a lot as a kid. My legs hurt, so my brain made up a story about them being eaten. Seemed logical."
Malvor threw his hands in the air.
"No, Annie, that is NOT logical. Logical is dreaming about flying. Logical is dreaming about showing up to the temple in your undergarments. Logical is not having your legs chewed off by a nightmare gremlin while your dream mother smiles through her own slow consumption!"
She tilted her head.
"It was disturbing, sure, but it stopped after a while."
"Oh, well, thank the gods," Malvor deadpanned, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest."At least it was just temporary hell and not forever hell."
Anastasia rolled her eyes and took another sip.
Malvor gawked at her.
"Annie," he said, voice strained, "you concern me."
"You asked."
"I—"He pointed at her. Opened his mouth. Closed it."You know what? Fine. Okay. Great. I just—"He dragged a hand through his hair."I need a moment."
Anastasia smirked behind her cup.
"You seem upset, Malvor."
He shot her a look.
"You are the most unsettlingly casual person I have ever met," he muttered, taking a long sip of coffee and seriously rethinking his life choices.
Anastasia swirled her coffee slowly, her gaze distant.
"I used to have a lot of nightmares," she said, her voice quiet but steady."All the time. Horrible, vivid things."
Malvor, still reeling from her casual description of a flesh-eating dream demon, watched her carefully.
"I finally taught myself how to wake up," she continued."Eventually, I could dreamscape. Control my dreams. Just… decide to walk away from the terror."
His brows lifted slightly.
That… that was impressive.
"When I was given to the temple," she went on,"my dreams became my escape. I wanted to leave, and in a way, I could."
She exhaled softly, tilting her head as if recalling those dreams now.
"I could swim and breathe underwater. I could fly. I was powerful. I could do anything."
Her fingers tapped against her cup.
"In a world where I had no power, my dreams gave me power."
Malvor sat back, tapping a finger against his lips as he considered her words.
For the first time, he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to tease her.
Because he understood that.More than he liked to admit.
His smirk returned, but it was softer.
"Oh, Annie dream-weaver," he said with a low chuckle,"I knew there was chaos in you somewhere."
Anastasia surprised him by grinning.
Not a smirk.Not the usual small, amused twitch of her lips.
A real grin.
And gods above, it transformed her.
Her already stunning face became something more. Something amazing.It was like seeing a star flare to life—unexpected, radiant, impossible to ignore.
Malvor felt something shift in his chest.
He decided to push his luck.
"Annie, you really are beautiful."
Her grin softened into a smirk, her blue eyes flicking to him with lazy confidence.
"I know."
He let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head.
"Cocky little thing."
"Takes one to know one."
He tilted his head, studying her, something new creeping into his expression.
"No, it was that last look," he admitted, voice quieter."It was something else. You look so beautiful when you're unguarded. So much happier. Freer."
Free.
What a terrible word to use, when she belonged to him now.
But it was true.
And the realization hit him with an unexpected force.
He wanted to see her smile all the time.He wanted to hear her laugh.He wanted—
Oh.
Oh, no.
This was very bad.
As if reading his thoughts, she spoke.
"I still belong to you. Whatever it is you want, just ask."
Bloody. Flaming. Hells.
Gods above and below.
What does he want?
The thought came unbound, slipping through the cracks of his carefully constructed self-denial.
He wants her.
Oh, shit.
Malvor did not want people. He used them.
They wanted him. Needed him.They threw themselves at him, desperate for his favor, for his attention, for a piece of him.
And that made it easy.
Easy to enjoy.Easy to discard.Easy to avoid any of the messy crap.
But this?
This was not easy.This was not simple.
And her face—gods damn it—she knew.
She knew.
That infuriating, unreadable, impossible woman was sitting across from him, calm as ever, watching him squirm in his own godly skin.
How?!
Malvor narrowed his eyes.
He hated this.
He hated how easily she saw through him.
And worse?
He hated that she wasn't even using it against him.
She just… knew.
And that was so much worse.