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Summary
Columbina noses the soft fabric, a dust of pink coating her cheeks. She smells Sandrone — her rosy perfume, bitter black tea and brass. She inhales again, curling up in the dark, legs pulled close to her chest.
She used to prefer the cold and silent nights, but now she longs for Sandrone's warmth, the ticking of her key and the touch of her lips. It can't have been more than a week, yet somehow hours become eons in Sandrone's absence.
"Sandrone…" Columbina sighs, gathering the duvet further into her embrace.