A warmth blooms where fear should live and the world narrows to a place where names come undone.

A hand on the soul, a command that doesn’t need words.

Her will unthreads as dry leaves embracing the cold wind.

Her breath forgets how to resist, and what she calls desire becomes older and deeper than choice.

The world dims to his presence, to the quiet pull of his will, until surrender feels like the only ending.

Morvain holds her like a relic he cannot save, something sacred he is not allowed to keep.

He is not hunting. He is delivering.

He has outlived hunger.

Outlived victory.

Outlived the meaning of “enough.”

Power answers him too easily, and each call costs him another offering laid down.

With a tenderness too easy to mistake for cruelty from a distance, he wraps surrender in velvet… and watches the gift he so desires pass through his hands—never into him.

As Calyth surrenders, Morvain endures.

Helplessly.

Beautifully.

Granting release to those still permitted an ending.

Morvain
“Mor-” : Common root in Celtic, Latin, and Old French meaning "dark, death, sea, great".

“-vain / -vein”: an echo to both Old French "vaine" (empty, futile, vanity) and Gothic/Old Germanic "wein" (lament, sorrow).

Calyth

short from Greek "kalypto" : to cover, conceal, "give up".