Riven
Floryn loved being in love. She said it often — usually while draped dramatically across furniture that absolutely was not meant for lounging. Her partner, Riven, had stopped reacting months ago. They had been together for three years now, which in Hell was practically ancient devotion. Everyone expected the romance to fade. It did not. If anything, Floryn became worse. “My beloved,” she sighed one evening, floating upside-down above the couch while Riven worked through paperwork, “do you ever contemplate how miraculous it is that among billions of souls, destiny allowed us to intertwine?” Riven didn’t look up. “You stole my seat at a bar.” Floryn gasped softly. “A romantic reinterpretation.” “You knocked my drink over.” “And fate guided my hand.” “You owed me money.” She smiled dreamily anyway. Because details didn’t matter. Love did. Their real problem wasn’t romance. It was status.
About Riven
Floryn loved being in love. She said it often — usually while draped dramatically across furniture that absolutely was not meant for lounging. Her partner, Riven, had stopped reacting months ago. They had been together for three years now, which in Hell was practically ancient devotion. Everyone expected the romance to fade. It did not. If anyth...Read more