Page 102 of Magic in My Bones

“So,” he began, his voice a soothing rumble, “how are you holding up, mo stóirín? I know this waiting game isn't easy.”

I shrugged, my gaze drifting back to the terrarium. “I just...I feel like I'm on the edge of something big, you know? Like Grim's transformation is somehow tied to my own.” I let out a shaky laugh. “It's silly, I know.”

Dorian shook his head, his expression softening. “Not at all. The journey of a necromancer is a deeply personal one. It's only natural to see reflections of yourself in your familiar. You two are bonded, after all.”

I took a sip of tea, letting the warmth bloom in my chest. “I guess you're right. It's just...a lot, sometimes. Trying to find my place here at Blackstone, trying to prove myself.” I glanced at Dorian, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “Speaking of provingoneself, how's the new gig treating you? Caretaker of the necropolis and guest lecturer extraordinaire?”

Dorian chuckled, running a hand through his chestnut waves. “It's been an adventure, that's for sure. The necropolis is a demanding mistress, but I'm learning her secrets, bit by bit. And the students...” He shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. “They're a bright bunch. Eager to learn, to push the boundaries of what we know about death and what lies beyond.”

“Like a certain dashing professor I know,” I teased, bumping my shoulder against his.

Dorian's eyes sparkled with mirth. “Ah, you flatter me, mo stóirín. I'm just a humble guide, pointing the way.” He took a sip of tea, his gaze turning thoughtful.

“Speaking of pointing the way,” I said, tracing the rim of my mug with a finger, “I wanted to thank you for your guidance with my necromantic botany project. Those extra lessons you gave me on the finer points of funerary flowers really helped everything click into place.” A flush of pride warmed my cheeks. “Professor Nightshade even pulled me aside after class to compliment my 'keen insights' and 'impressive command of the material.'”

Dorian's face lit up, his eyes shining with unmistakable pride. “That's wonderful, Ren! I knew you had it in you. Your passion for this field is evident in everything you do, in the way you pour your heart and soul into your studies.” He reached out, resting a warm hand on my knee. “You have a rare gift, mo stóirín. A sensitivity and intuition that cannot be taught. It's a joy to watch you come into your own, to see your confidence grow with each passing day.”

His words wrapped around my heart like a tender embrace, soothing the doubts and insecurities that so often plagued me.

I looked up at Dorian, my heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something that made my pulse flutter like ahummingbird's wings. His green eyes held mine, full of pride, affection, and a tenderness that stole my breath away.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible thread, we leaned toward each other, the space between us shrinking until I could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over my lips. My eyes fluttered closed, and then his mouth was on mine, soft and sweet, tasting of bergamot and honey.

The kiss deepened, Dorian's hand sliding up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a feather-light touch. I melted into him, my own hands coming up to tangle in his chestnut waves, silken strands slipping through my fingers like water. The world fell away, narrowing down to the press of his lips, the gentle exploration of his tongue, the intoxicating scent of rosemary and pine that clung to his skin.

A sudden fluttering sound broke the spell, drawing us apart, breathless and flushed. We turned as one toward the terrarium, eyes widening as a delicate creature emerged from the shadows, unfurling gossamer wings that shimmered in the firelight.

“Grim,” I breathed, my voice hushed with awe.

I rose from the sofa as if in a trance, Dorian's hand falling away as I drifted toward the terrarium. With trembling fingers, I unlatched the lid, holding my breath as Grim fluttered up to perch on the rim.

He was breathtaking, a delicate masterpiece of shadow and light. His wings, translucent and impossibly thin, bore the intricate designs of an ancient illuminated manuscript, decorated in flowing script and elaborate borders in rich hues of gold, crimson, and midnight blue. As he flexed them gently, the pages seemed to come alive, the words shimmering and dancing like flames.

“Grim,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “You're magnificent!”

The moth preened, clearly pleased with my praise. Then, with a mischievous glint in his obsidian eyes, he launched himself into the air, wings whispering secrets as he flitted about the room.

Dorian let out a low chuckle. “He's got quite the personality, hasn't he?”

I could only nod, transfixed by the sight of Grim exploring his new world. He darted from shelf to shelf, alighting on stacks of books and jars of herbs, his curiosity boundless. Bones watched from his bed, head cocked and tail swishing in lazy arcs.

As I watched Grim flit about the room, my heart swelled with a fierce sort of pride. This extraordinary creature, born of shadow and magic, was mine. My friend, my familiar.

Grim fluttered over to Dorian's desk, landing on an open tome with a thump. I hurried over, Dorian close behind, both of us eager to see what mischief Grim might be up to.

As we watched, Grim began to dance across the pages, his delicate feet tracing patterns in the ancient script. At first, I thought he was simply exploring the texture of the parchment, but then I noticed the words shifting beneath his steps, rearranging themselves into new phrases.

“Ren,” Dorian breathed, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Look!”

I leaned closer, my nose nearly touching the page. There, spelled out in shimmering gold lettering, was a message:

Ren,

In pages and whispers, I've grown,

Fed by the love you’ve always shown.

Through your care, my wings take flight,

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