Samael reclined with her head resting across Kivas' thighs, one arm bent loosely over her midsection, the other draped across the grass. Her gaze was turned upward, fixed on the half-shadowed profile of the angel above her.
The branches above filtered sunlight in soft beams, tracing faint patterns across Kivas' expression—equal parts tranquil and tired, touched with something peaceful she hadn't worn since the distortion reset the world.
The lap beneath her was surprisingly comfortable.
Samael had worried her horns would complicate the arrangement, but they'd formed at such a modest angle that she simply needed to rest closer to the bend of Kivas' knees.
Her neck arched slightly, but the view was worth it. From here, the world narrowed down to soft cloth, steady warmth, and Kivas' quiet rhythm.
Also, Kivas' thighs were plump enough to accommodate her.
