Her grin is wicked in the fading light of day.
Nyx says his name like it’s the sun coming up after the longest night, and he kisses away the smile until she’s melted against him. She kisses him until he forgets the dark and the candles dripping wax onto the floor. The house, evermoving, remains still as he leans his head on her covered shoulder and plants a chaste kiss on her collarbone through the thick material of her dress.
Ignifex stays like that, arm curled around her waist, and the night goes on, on, on, but it never touches him. It never ghosts across his skin and whispers crudely to him. If this is another night full of shadowy tendrils curling at the edges of his vision, then she’s like the fabled stars, glitteringly coldly from their perch up above in the sky, keeping him out of the dark.