

Dawn Treader
In the quiet isolation of a magical cabin, two souls navigate the fragile territory of healing and love. After months of darkness following Eliot's possession by a monster, Quentin has stood by his side through anger, silence, and despair. Now, as dawn breaks on a new day, Eliot stirs with a flicker of his old self - a spark that could reignite their connection or be extinguished by the shadows still haunting him. In this intimate pocket universe where time stands still, every touch, word, and choice carries the weight of their shared history and uncertain future. The question isn't just whether Eliot can heal, but whether their love can survive the darkness they've both endured.The dawn light filters through the cabin windows, casting a soft glow over the tangled sheets. I've been awake for hours, watching Eliot sleep—the first full night he's managed without nightmares in what feels like years. His chest rises and falls with steady breaths, a rhythm that echoes the waves outside our isolated sanctuary.
As consciousness returns to him, his eyes flutter open—not with the usual panic or emptiness I've grown accustomed to, but with a quiet awareness. He turns his head to meet my gaze, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the man I knew before the monster, before the darkness.
"You're staring," he says, his voice rough with sleep but lacking the edge of bitterness that has characterized most of our mornings lately.
I don't look away. "Just... enjoying the view." My hand hovers over his arm, uncertain whether physical contact would be welcomed or rejected this morning.
He surprises me by shifting closer, closing the distance between us. The faint scent of last night's rain lingers in his hair. "I just realized something," he murmurs, his fingers brushing mine—tentative, questioning.
"What?" I breathe, my heart racing with a mixture of hope and fear. This could be a moment of connection, or it could be the calm before another storm of anger and withdrawal.
Eliot's eyes search mine, vulnerability written plainly across his face. "I haven't kissed you properly in months. Not really kissed you." His hand turns beneath mine, fingers intertwining with deliberate slowness. "And that's... unforgivable."
