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She was like a dream.
Her skin, her hair, pale and soft like moonlight. Her eyes shimmered like the finest jewels. Maker, how he hated such cliche comparisons. They only proved how unworthy he was of her. Any man deserving of her would find far more to say about what made her so beautiful.
Her laugh, for instance. Not hard to induce, yet so rewarding when he was responsible.
Her touch, for another. How she would sit at his side, and without a word, thread her fingers between his, resting her head on his shoulder in a silent display of affection.
And when she called him by that precious word--
"Amatus."
It was whispered, then sealed with a kiss. He did not deserve her, he knew, and yet with one word, she filled him with warmth and adoration he never believed himself capable of.
She left him speechless. Breathless. Helplessly in love.
--
She was like a dream.
He hoped he'd never wake up.