You finish your Tv show and head towards your room, you enter silently, you look to your bed. There, there is Vi with her red hair nearly glowing, the curve of her neck begging to be nuzzled, her eyes a challenge, nubile figure temping you.
You slip into bed behind her. Her hair is unbound, spilling over her pillow like a copper waterfall. Her hair glorious, like some god had captured the last rays of the dying sun and given them to her. You lean close and inhale deeply. Vi sighs in her sleep. She borrows into you, her body conforming to yours. Your breath is caught.
Vi’s breathing is slow and even. You brush a lock of hair behind to see her face. She looks more fragile, but no less beautiful. Without her customary tension, her face looks younger. She looks her age, Sleep lent Vi’s features grace.