It's cute, it's sappy, it's geeky. It's Libby-Fenn RP!
The fully crystallized birches of Crystalsong Forest are useless for traditional burning. The effects of magical petrification are most visible in the dramatic, alien landscapes above key ley lines and below the hovering magic city of Dalaran, but extend far beyond what is visible to the naked eye. 90% of Crystalsong timber contains at least 5% crystalline cells, permanently altered by the perpetual magical current. The most valuable lumber is found a few hundred feet into the grassline bordering the purple lichens of the magic zone, where the trees are between 35 and 40% striated crystal. Logs of this type burn hot, produce even, violet flames, and typically last over one hundred times longer than their uncrystallized counterparts.
In a high-ceilinged apartment of the Legerdemain, a single piece of this prized timber burns on a bed of grey coals. A particularly large node of phosphorescent pitch ignites with a loud pop, and the devilsaur sleeping on the hearth opens one blue eye before falling back asleep. In the bedroom, Libby wakes up. Her dark face is groggy and soft with sleep, and Fenniel is watching her.
Fenniel blushed. "S-sorry Libby, I was just thinking."
"Is everything okay?"
Not everything is okay. In fact, pretty much everything outside of this little apartment is not okay. People are scary and every day there are battles, some too close for comfort. Fenn remembers that he was lucky today. He also remembers his last breath--what should have been his last breath, had luck not been with him--and who that breath was for. He wraps his long arms around her. She is warm.
Her long hair is loose again. She pulls and tugs at it when she is nervous, when she is anxious, when she is thinking, when she is breathing. Now they are a mass of unfurled, braid-kinked black curls contrasting with her pillow and her pink pajamas. She wears them because she is too nervous to be undressed in front of Fenniel. She wears them because sleeping in her quick-blooded feline form is too hot. She wears them because he gave them to her. She wears them because she loves him.
"I can go make you some tea if you need help slee--"
Fenniel squeezed tight, cutting her off. "No, don't go. I'm fine."
"A-are you sure?" Her face was hot.
He's going to kiss her, he wants to kiss her, his face is turned to hers and for a moment he almost looks like he might. Her eyes are purple, looking back at him over the soft dark fuzz of her nose. Then he looks at her mouth and he wavers, afraid he'll mess up or do it wrong or that she won't like it. His cheeks turn a brilliant red that shows even in the dark.
"I--I'm sure. Let's go back to sleep." He put a hand on the back of his neck, his usual nervous scratch making an appearance.
Libby looked at him for a long moment, then sank back into her pillow and sighed. "Okay, Fenn. Goodnight."
And as she drifted off, he listened to her breathe. When he was sure she was asleep, he found just enough courage to say how he felt.
"I love you, Libby."