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"What do you think Bane would say?" Lisbeth's voice carried a haunting, almost ethereal quality as her fingers traced delicate patterns on her lower abdomen, waiting for Enver to join her in their bed. The moment hung in the air like a whispered secret, pulling Enver into her enigmatic reverie.
"To what, my love?" Enver's eyes danced with a mixture of adoration and desire as he gazed upon the stunning figure of his beloved, sprawled gracefully on her side of the bed. This shared space was their sanctuary, a place where their clandestine love could bloom, even though it was tainted by the disapproval of their gods.
"To a child born of Bane's Chosen with the blood of Bhaal" she said, her gaze seeking his.
Enver's heart raced at the notion. The forbidden desire to fill her with his offspring and witness the transformation of her body surged within him. Yet, he knew that their gods would frown upon such a union. The alliance itself was a precarious thread in the web of fate.
Could she be carrying their child? A glimmer of hope ignited in his chest, a hope that perhaps their powerful deities might see fit to grant this forbidden love a blessing. The intentions of gods were as inscrutable as the cosmos.
"Purely a hypothetical musing, my apologies," she said, abruptly sitting up and directing her full attention to him, her remorse sincere and profound. She must have glimpsed his hidden emotions, despite his efforts to conceal them. Lisbeth possessed the unique ability to read his very soul.
Removing his gauntlet, he placed it beside her blade and his ornamental rings on the bedside table. "I just...," Lisbeth extended a hand to him, swung her legs off the bed, and drew him closer to her. "It's something I wonder about from time to time, the offspring of our so passionate unions. What kind of gremlin the two of us would create?" her tone carried a teasing note, yet the spark in her eyes revealed her true longing.
Enver played along, standing before her, his heart swelling with affection. "Well, I can assure you that no child of mine would be raised in a sewer," he teased, closing the distance between them, encouraging her to recline on the bed.
"Hey!" she protested with feigned indignation, wrapping her legs around his hips as he positioned himself over her, forearms on either side of her head. "I turned out just fine."
He arched an eyebrow in playful scepticism, prompting laughter from her as she looked up at him. Lisbeth's beauty always struck him, but in these moments, when she was truly herself—happy, smiling, free—she was incomparable.
"Thank the gods this is all hypothetical, right?" she continued to smile up at him, yet there was a hint of something deeper, something that didn't quite reach her eyes. Leaning down, he tenderly pressed his lips to hers in a silent apology. Words couldn't convey the sorrow they both felt. This was the life they were fated to lead.
"Let us retire for the night, my darling," he whispered, moving away from her and settling on his side of the bed, propping a pillow behind him. She turned, shuffling up to him and nestling into his embrace, her head resting on his shoulder.
As Enver extinguished the room's lights with a flick of his wrist, he lay there, savouring the warmth of her presence. She hummed contentedly as his fingers caressed her long hair, hoping for a peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware of the looming storm that would soon tear their lives apart.