Caelum.
The night was incredibly chilly but for some reason unknown to me, I was restless. I couldn't shake off the dull ache in my chest nor ignore the whack headache making its way through the back of my skull.
My hands balled into tight fists as I slowly rose from my bed after trying for the nth time tonight to go to bed but failing miserably, so I decided to go downstairs to the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of scotch.
The fiery drink burned its way down my throat, igniting my blood with a kind of fire that I found unsettling yet addictive; and just when I tried to pour myself another glass, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
I froze.
"Who is there?" Zevran called out, his voice gruff with tiredness.
He glided into the kitchen like the grim reaper that he was, cast one glance at my glass and shrugged. "Unable to sleep?"
"Yes," I replied coldly, not even bothering to lie.
