The morning light slipped gently through the window, filtering in golden streaks between the furs that covered part of the entrance. I felt the soft warmth touch my face before I even opened my eyes.
For a moment, I didn't recognize where I was.
Then I realized I was holding something… furry, yet soft. I blinked slowly. When my eyes opened fully, I saw Azazel — in his beast form — lying beside me, wrapped in my arms. He looked at me with that curious, innocent gaze, as if nothing about our position was unusual.
Surprised, and suddenly filled with embarrassment, I pulled away quickly.
"G-Good morning… Did you sleep next to me?"
"Yes, but… you seemed cold. I just wanted to keep you warm," he said with calm honesty, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I blushed down to my ears. The embarrassment throbbed in my chest… but at the same time, a flicker of gratitude settled quietly.
What Ophelia didn't realize — what she hadn't noticed — was that Azazel had chosen to remain in his beast form. If he had been in his human body, his face would've been entirely flushed, struggling to stay composed.
That night had been far more difficult for Azazel than she could ever imagine.
He stood and told me he was heading out to hunt — to fulfill the promise he made the day before. I simply nodded, still seated on the edge of the hay bed, stretching slowly.
Then a small but undeniable discomfort hit me. I hadn't bathed. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I felt… unclean.
Restless, I stood abruptly and stepped outside the house, determined to find a stream or something similar. I wandered for a few minutes, distracted by the sounds of the forest... until I ran straight into someone.
A young man stood there — hair black as the night sky and eyes like crimson rubies. He stared at me with a strangely blank expression — and upon seeing me, began slowly backing away, as if my presence unsettled him.
Before he could disappear, I instinctively reached out and grabbed his arm.
"Hey… sorry. Do you know where I could find a stream?"
At my touch, his body went rigid. His eyes widened like I had struck him with lightning. He looked at me with confusion… as if the idea of being touched was unthinkable.
Puzzled, I stepped a little closer.
"Did I hurt you somehow?"
He hesitated, voice faltering.
"You… you're not disgusted by me? Not afraid?"
My confusion deepened.
"Why would I be?"
He looked away, answering with a raw, aching sadness:
"My eyes are… unnatural. And so is my fur. No fox is born completely black… with eyes like mine."
I tilted my head slightly, puzzled, my gaze meeting those ruby eyes that flickered between fear and hope.
"What do you mean?" I asked softly. "Your eyes are beautiful. I've never seen an all-black fox before… but to me, that only makes you more unique. Rare. Valuable."
He didn't seem to understand. His eyes widened, like the words themselves were foreign.
"A fox like you," I continued gently, "should be seen as something precious. I believe that."
He didn't answer right away. Just stared at me, as though my words were slicing through years of silence and self-loathing.
"I…" he murmured, hesitant. "No one's ever said that to me."
His gaze dropped to the ground, fists slowly curling at his sides. His long, dark tail swayed faintly behind him — as if it, too, was finally breathing.
"You're different," he said softly. "People avoid me. They say my color brings bad luck… or that my blood is tainted."
There was a raw wound in his voice — but also the smallest thread of someone who might want to believe in something better.
Maybe, without meaning to, I'd tugged gently on that thread.
"…Want me to show you where the stream is?" he asked after a pause, his voice still hesitant, but calmer now.
I nodded, offering a light smile.
"If it's not too much trouble…"
He turned quietly and began walking. His steps were light, nearly silent. I followed beside him, the silence between us not awkward, but peaceful — as if we were giving each other space without needing to say it.
The path to the stream was short, yet beautiful — surrounded by low greenery and tall trees whose leaves filtered morning sunlight in ribbons of gold and green.
When we arrived, he paused by the water's edge and motioned with his chin.
"Here. The water's clean. It comes straight from the spring."
I thanked him and knelt to wash my face and arms. The water was cold, refreshing. I scooped it into my hands, sipping carefully. All the while, I could feel his gaze — not intrusive, just curious. Like someone witnessing something rare and fleeting.
"Thanks for bringing me," I said, turning to him with a gentle smile.
He seemed about to reply… but then one ear twitched slightly, catching a distant sound.
On the walk back, still side by side, we said little. But something was different now. The weight he carried seemed a little lighter.
Then, rounding a bend in the trail, we ran right into Azazel.
He was in his human form, hauling a freshly caught boar on his shoulders, still dripping blood. His chest rose with effort, body marked by the strain of the hunt. His eyes narrowed slightly the moment he saw us together.
"Oh," Azazel said, halting. "I see you're awake, Ophelia. And… walking with this freak?"
The young man froze immediately. His whole body tensed, those red eyes locking onto Azazel's with a sharpness that burned. There was something old between them — something unresolved.
I stood between them, feeling the forest hold its breath.
I frowned, anger rising in my chest.
"Freak? He just has different fur," I said sharply. "And for the record… I think he's beautiful."
Azazel blinked, clearly caught off guard. His hardened expression faltered.
"He didn't tell you?" he said in a lower voice, almost bitter. "The real reason people fear him?"
I turned back to the young man. He was trembling now. Not with fear — but with something deeper: shame, maybe. Pain that had never found a place to rest.
"It's not just my appearance," he murmured, eyes fixed on the ground. "My father… was an orc. A cruel one. He murdered two females from the tribe… without mercy."
He took a breath, and for the first time, his voice cracked.
"He looked just like me."
My eyes narrowed. That heat of indignation burned again.
"He's not his father," I said, voice firm and steady. "He treated me with kindness and respect. No one… no one should have to carry someone else's sins."
The silence that followed was heavy — the kind that says more than any scream could.
The young man beside me stood still, speechless. His expression wavered, eyes shimmering with something he tried hard not to show.
Azazel looked down, shoulders stiff. The hostility was gone. What remained was something else… something heavier.
Finally, he let out a long, quiet sigh.
"You see more with your heart than with your eyes, Ophelia…"
Then he looked back at the boy — not with accusation, but with something closer to exhaustion.
"Take care… kid."
And with that, Azazel turned and continued on, the boar still on his shoulders.
Silence returned — but this time, it carried space within it.
As if something had shifted… for all of us.