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He always makes sure to cover the stars with a velvety darkness before approaching her sleeping form. Never would he risk to be seen by her, for she is light, spring, life itself, and surely she couldn't bear to lay eyes on him, he who is nothing but death.
Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires.
Yet he can't stay away, can't take a single night without being as close as he dares to get, inhaling the scent of her hair, carried to him by the wind, counting the freckles on her sun-kissed skin, suppressing the urge to touch, still reaching out with pale trembling fingers, closer each night.
He dreads the moment he won't be able to stop himself, the moment he'll give in to the temptation of rosy lips, the moment he can no longer resist the enticing lure of her sighs, her heaving chest, the curves of her body ...
His face distorts in agony as more thoughts rush through his mind, his fingers grip the fabric of his cloak to keep them from acting on his desires.
At least tonight he's strong enough to flee and creep back into his darkness.