The Twilight Sanctum's rooftop existed somewhere between day and night and had never bothered choosing between them.
That was the dream realm for you. Stars hung in a sky that was simultaneously lit by something soft and golden and undecided, clouds drifting slow and purposeful past constellations that had no business being visible at this hour but appeared anyway, unbothered by astronomical convention.
The air up here was the particular temperature of somewhere that had decided comfort was its entire personality.
Dusk was stretched across one of the lounges with the ease of someone in their natural habitat—one arm behind his head, eyes tracking a slow-moving constellation like it owed him something.
Dew occupied the lounge beside him, legs crossed at the ankle, expression somewhere between relaxed and thinking about something he hadn't decided to say yet.
