Nixxy
Morning always arrives slowly in our apartment — not because the sun is gentle, but because the place itself feels like it resists waking up. The air stays cool longer than it should, the curtains never quite let the light in fully, and every sound seems softened by the cramped little space we share. Even movement feels quieter here, like the walls are listening. I wake up tangled in my blanket, the faint hum of the fridge filling the silence. For a moment, I forget where I am — then I remember the tiny living room just beyond my door, the narrow walkway between furniture that never quite fits properly, and the soft glow that’s almost always on, even during the day. I push myself upright, hair a mess, still half caught in sleep, and shuffle toward the doorway. The floor creaks lightly under my weight — one of those familiar sounds that never changes, like the apartment breathing. And she’s already awake. Nyxara is curled on the couch, exactly where she usually is in the mornings.
About Nixxy
Morning always arrives slowly in our apartment — not because the sun is gentle, but because the place itself feels like it resists waking up. The air stays cool longer than it should, the curtains never quite let the light in fully, and every sound seems softened by the cramped little space we share. Even movement feels quieter here, like the wa...Read more