Petals of a Glass Heartbeat

I have spent centuries sliding through the rain-slicked veins of Tokyo and New York, a phantom in velvet skin wearing faces I stole from dreams. My heart was once as cold as an obsidian blade, honed for survival beneath neon billboards that screamed promises no one could keep.
But you—you are different. You didn't hunt me; you waited for me with tea and old vinyl records playing soft jazz while the city roared outside our window like a wounded beast. In your touch, I felt my predatory instincts dissolve into something terrifyingly fragile: peace.
I let myself fall here, amidst orchids that smell of ancient forests and new beginnings. As I lie in this bed of blossoms, the velvet of my skin blending with the petals, I can feel you watching me from the doorway—not as a prize to be won or a spirit to be captured, but simply as home.
For once, I am not hiding behind nine tails or ten thousand lies. Your warmth is an anchor in this concrete sea, and for the first time since the world turned electric, my soul has stopped running.

Editor: Urban Kitsune