I reverently rubbed my fingers along the silken blankets. I turned my head and pressed my cheek to the warm, velvety pillows. The comforter was thick and irresistibly soft, as if a billowing cloud, relieving to rest my exhausted body. The warmth of amber gleams enveloped me, it was morning when I opened my eyes.
I had a dream last night. It felt so unreal, so I assumed it was a dream. And yet, it was not.
I opened my eyes and the view in front of me was still the same as the last time I saw it; the tiny flicker lingering around my ring finger, and Marvel who was sleeping right next to me, holding me in his arms, was proof that everything that happened was not a dream. It was real.
I glanced at the hereditary ring of the Yerevan Family on Marvel's pinky finger; nonexistent. It was just a trace of it after more than a decade of staying there.
