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... impossibly absolute.

They were not divine.

They were not demonic.

They were beyond classification.

Each of them bore no distinct features.

No eyes.

No faces.

No defining marks.

And yet, Aiden felt as if they were gazing directly into his soul.

Their forms shimmered, shifting between possibilities—as if reality had not yet decided what they were supposed to be.

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“Yes.”

What the hell?

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Molitia Clemence was born sickly.

She forgot to cover herself with a blanket and caught a cold. She woke up next to her husband after 10 days just because of a slight cold.

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***

“Have you eaten?” (Husband)

“Yes.” (Molitia)

“This is the belly of a person who ate?” (Husband)

He frowned as he stroked her flat lower abdomen. He held her wrist carefully, as if it would break. His voice rose.

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“That’s…” (Molitia)

“Butler!” (Husband)

The butler rushed to his angry voice, fidgeting with his wrists.

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Molitia’s mouth opened at her husband’s words, but no sound came out. ‘I just had a meal?’