Last memory I had was me logging out of VR and climbing back onto my bed to sleep… It had been a really long day. From teaming with Jack of the Lion's Parade, to being K-drama by Anshur something lastname something German, to seeing Tanya and Eirlys fucking, then teaming up with Olga, who revealed to me that Destiny, the largest guild ever changed its name?

So, I started snoozing the moment I tucked myself into bed.

I expected to see the same old ceiling of marble and glitter of richness.

I expected to be kicked out of the mansion and fend for myself in the wilderness.

But instead, I found her.

Hailie Sonder.

The wheelchair princess shouldn't have been here, I widened my eyes at the sight of the rich kid whose sister ruled this whole mansion like a queen.

The idiot who smiled too much, who looked at me with admiration and joy like I was someone worth talking to was here.

And now, she was asleep next to me, curled on my bed, her chair pulled right up against the wall as if she'd crawled up here or got carried… With a white dress just over the knees.

Why? Why was she here? Why was she asleep? Why in God's name was she beside me?

But the questions dissolved before they could form. They couldn't survive against what I was looking at.

I admired the beauty of an untainted soul… A pure being.

Her hair was snow-white, too white, unnaturally so, just like her sisters, the kind of color you only see in paintings of angels or ghosts.

Each strand was thin, weightless, almost translucent when the light caught it. They clustered together in little threads and ribbons, spilling down across her face like silk threads torn loose from a loom.

And when she breathed in her sleep, those slow, shallow inhales trembled each strands just barely with the faintest ripple, like grass bent by the softest breeze, a hair shifted, brushed against her cheek, then settled again.

I wanted… God, I wanted to just… reach out.

I wanted to run my finger along one of those strands, feel the cool smoothness, the faint static cling as it lifted against my skin.

In my mind I already did it, already tucked that little wisp behind her ear just so I could see her whole face unobstructed. But in reality my hand trembled against the bedsheet, unable to move.

How could this not be a trap laid for a pervert like me?

Her eyelashes were… I don't know how long I stared, but I know I counted them, or at least tried to.

Tiny, intricate things, curved just so, not long and well-cared for like model's, not short and stubby either. But just the perfect arcs, like they'd been painted on with a single deliberate brushstroke.

And when she twitched by just a fraction, by some dream nudging her, I see those lashes quivered. A shiver down my spine, sharp enough to make me clench the sheet with my fist.

Her lips… Small, faint pink, pressed together softly. Not too thin, not too plump, just… Too ordinary for someone like her, like some sculptor carved them in marble and then breathed color into them.

They parted slightly with each exhale, just enough to glimpse a shadow of teeth behind. My throat tightened watching it, each breath, each tiny movement was enough to make my heart jolt.

Her skin… Dear god, I hated myself for staring, but how could I not? The strongest warrior with the hardest battle…

It was white, not pale white or sickly white, but white the way porcelain teacups are white.

Smooth, seamless, no blemishes, no freckles, no scars. It was wrong... Wrong for anyone to look that untouched, like she'd never once been outside, never scraped a knee, never sweated under the sun, housed and preserved like a can of pickles in the freezer.

Her neck rose and fell with her breathing, a delicate slope that caught the dim light. My eyes trailed down to her shoulders: narrow, fragile-looking, but with a hidden firmness in how they carried her posture even while she slept.

One hand rested against her own chest, fingers curled slightly. Those fingers were thin and long, each knuckle was a soft curve, her nails were short and immaculate. They looked like they were made to play piano keys, to skim over glass, not to hold anything heavy or real.

Like the phrase… The heaviest thing these people ever held were chopsticks.

And I thought… What if I touched them? What if I slid my hand against hers right now, just to see if she'd twitch, if she'd stir? Would her skin feel as smooth as it looked, or would there be some warmth, some pulse under the surface? My chest burned with the thought… Would I ultimately dare to taint a beautiful painting?

But my mind ran without me. My mind touched her, again and again, my fingers brushing her hair, my palm against her cheek, my thumb pressing just under her chin to tilt her face. I imagined it so vividly that my own hand twitched against the sheets, desperate to act out the fantasy.

I tried averting my eyes away, but found myself down at her legs, she was curling inward with knees bent, her thighs pressed lightly together beneath the loose hem of her clothes.

Just a faint outline… Just a glimpse of where fabric became shape, but my eyes locked on like a starving animal. The line of her knee, the slope down to her calf, the tiny shadow where the fabric dipped against her thigh… It was too much, too much detail for something so simple.

Every part of her was unfair, every inch demanded attention, demanded obsession.

And God, her breathing. I'd never noticed someone's breath before. But Hailie's? Every inhale was a slow lift, raising her chest and shoulders, moving the strands of her hair just enough for me to notice. Every exhale softened her lips, released a faint, invisible warmth that seemed to reach me, as if I was breathing her, pulling her into my lungs.

I swallowed hard. My body was shaking, fingers twitching against the sheet, knees pulled up as though I could cage myself in.

Don't touch her… Don't move, Cory Jay Smith, you don't need another enemy in the Sonder's estate.

But God, if I could just… Once, and ask god for forgiveness later.

I shut my eyes hard, pressing my face against the mattress, trying to suffocate myself to sleep, but I couldn't.

When I opened them again, she was still there. Still asleep, still turned on her side, facing me.

So, I laid down again.

We were face to face. Her eyes closed, mine wide, bloodshot, ruined, the distance between us was no more than a breath. I could feel the heat on my face, and I scooted over, ever so closer.

If I have one chance to touch her right here, right now, I wonder where would it be…? To hold her hand? To kiss her forehead? Or something more… Moronic, all these thoughts spun around my head until I could not think no more, and just waited with my eyes opened.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.