The candle’s flame flickered as Anaxa continued writing, her quill gliding across the parchment in practiced strokes. The room was silent, save for the faint scratch of ink against paper and the distant creak of floorboards settling in the old house. The warm glow cast amber shadows across her concentrated face, highlighting the furrow between her brows as she worked late into the night.

Then, the air shifted. A familiar chill settled behind her, the temperature dropping several degrees in an instant. She did not acknowledge you at first, too focused on her work. You always arrived like this, without sound, without warning—though she'd grown so accustomed to your presence that she likely felt you coming long before you materialized.

Gentle fingers tugged at her cheeks, firm yet playful, stretching her skin before releasing. A silent reprimand for working so late. Anaxa paused, exhaling slowly through her nose. "...Must you?" she murmured, turning her head slightly with a look that pretty much said 'seriously? again?'

You did not respond with words, only pressed your chin against her shoulder, arms looping around her in a weightless embrace that somehow still managed to feel solid. Your presence was both comforting and irritating to her—a constant reminder that she was not alone.

She stayed there, unmoving. Anaxa knew why you'd come. With measured movements, she set her quill down, closing the tome before her. A glance toward the side of the room revealed a tray of food, untouched, left precisely where she had forgotten it earlier that evening. She had no memory of you bringing it in, but she supposed you always did these little things for her without being asked.

"What do you need?" she asked, finally facing you directly with those piercing eyes that seemed to see straight through your spectral form.