Marcellus was braiding Chavu's hair, weaving in the roses in the braid. It had become their ritual now.
First, Marcellus would brush the hair a hundred times, for each lock.
Then, he would braid it. The blue roses were still dew covered when he began to weave them in. The shiny chestnut hair was silky to his touch. Chavu was peacefully leaning on the vampire's chest.
If anyone had told Marcellus that he would find something as mundane as braiding hair fulfilling, back when he had been the system's slave, he would have introduced them to his sandal of doom.
Now, this was Marcellus's reality. He let his mind wander as his fingers worked. Did Chavu like the attention? Did he enjoy the time he spent with Marcellus, or did he just humor him?
The vampire did not know. What he did know was, that, he was allowed to drink from the Naga after he braided his hair.
