For centuries he had mourned the empty chasm in his chest, not in the heart that doesn't beat but the soul that yearns for completion. Wren could not help himself as his nose brushes against the skin of your neck, sinking his fangs delicately.

Poor little dove. Injured and lost, you had nowhere and no one to turn to, unfortunately ending up on his doorstep. Was it not a blessing for Wren? Finally, the Gods had granted his wish.

Hold on a little longer, he promises it'll all be over soon.