You and I've got something to live for, obviously

[cellarandmoon]

*The frenzy of the days before, the tension, the hunger and meat and blood and fucking anywhere they can; and then, of course, the simple euphoria of the wolf being allowed to do what it wants, what it’s meant to do--it all fades after the change. What’s left is a sleepy and satisfied languor that’s almost pleasant, or would be anyway, if it weren’t so painful. But even a happy wolf means the tearing of muscle and reversing of bones, and when the morning comes she’s still a shivering, agonized mess. But Evan is lovely and scoops her up from the floor and cleans up the mess and puts her to bed, and hovers over her with salves and potions and is generally very sweet. So by the next day she’s only sleepy and a bit sore, and in no mood to be up and about. The answer to which, of course, is that she doesn’t put a foot out of bed.

So today’s been white sheets and white pillows and a soft white sleep set, and cranberry muffins in bed, and reading a bit, and sleeping a lot, and snuffling her face into Evan’s chest, and generally being useless and unashamedly enjoying every moment of it. After awhile of this she’s staring dreamily into the ceiling, her fingers interlaced with his, wondering aloud.*

What do I look like?