92 Eryth Lysander - Seven Weeks

Fingers skimming the loose strands of silvery hair, finer than the finest silk, I froze in my seat. Finding myself enthralled by her softening features. I'd foolishly visited this woman... this... thing every day for the past seven weeks. Somehow hoping she'd wake. Hoping she'd open those amethyst eyes. 

What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I sighed. Sliding the strands of silver behind her ear. Izalith tilted herself to me and curled into a ball. Her soft snores echoing through the hospital room. With a hint of a smile over her cherry lips: revealing her enchanting features. My heart froze in my chest. Petrified. It was as if the Gods had taken the time to sculpt perfection. If such a thing even existed… It would take the form of Iza.