–Livana–
The room was crimson—like a summer sunset bled with hints of purple and pink. Warm. Lush. Almost too close to the color of blood. Does my husband adore that shade a little too much? Still, the sheets looked indulgently soft. Comfortable. Inviting.
I lowered my gaze, tracing the intricate designs on the carpet as Damon moved from door to door, narrating each one with boyish pride.
It was all crimson. Like summer… and blood. Yet the space was minimal, curated. A loveseat sofa, an ornamental piece shaped suspiciously like a kama sutra sculpture. I shook my head. Damon is completely obsessed with me. Let's just hope he doesn't plan to use that on anyone else.
The carpet's markings were detailed, deliberate—different colors and shapes meant to guide me. A silent system, designed for someone who can't always see, to tell me where I am… where I should go when I'm alone.
