Doll House – Aspen, Scott (pt 7) – Turn About is Fair Play
The moonlight draped across the silk sheets like a spill of mercury, casting a pale, ethereal glow over the room. It illuminated the curve of Aspen’s hip where the duvet had slipped away, exposing the smooth, creamy skin to the cool night air. The room was quiet, the hum of the city below reduced to a distant, rhythmic purr that usually lulled her into a deeper darkness. She lay on her side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, her breathing slow and rhythmic, lost in the heavy, velvet embrace of deep sleep. Her mind was a blank slate, no dreams, no thoughts, just the restoration of rest. The scent of lavender and stale wine hung in the air, a testament to the long night she had before. Then, the warmth began. It didn’t startle her …
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