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CHAPTER SIX ▪▫▪▫▪
THE GOOD THING ABOUT KIRA'S SOUL was that black went with everything.
It was a color that blended well with the gold of her hair and the devilish scarlet of her lips and the innocent hazel of her eyes. She did not particular enjoy what she had become, sometimes it was hard to sleep at night—but that was mostly due to the cheap mattress Kaz Brekker had put in her room.
"You're always in my bed anyway, might as well not give you comforts in your own room," Kaz had told her, and she was sure he immediately regretted the words he had spoken at the sight of the smirk on her lips.
"Oh, so you like having me on your bed, Kaz?" she asked innocently.
"That's not what I said." Kaz had glared at her but Kira was more focused on the faint blush on his cheeks. That was one of the first moments she was reminded that he was only a teenage boy, no matter how hard he tried not to be.
"I think you did, Brekker," she said grinning, "My, my, Kaz. If you want me on your bed so much all you had to do was ask. I could lose my nightgown if that helps," she added innocently. He glared at her harder. "Dirtyhands indeed."
"Shut it, Whisperer," he had snapped.
"Don't worry, Mr. Brekker. I won't tell a soul about your scandalous thoughts about me in your bed." She had winked at him, a grin on her face as she saw his jaw clenching.
The following day Kira had found the fluffiest pillows on her bed.
She had taken them with her to Kaz's bedroom and promptly built a little throne in his bed, laying down with a sketchbook in her lap—she sketched a picture of herself, looking over her shoulder with a smile, her back bare of clothes to imply to Kaz she had lost her nightgown. She had framed it and put it on his desk.
She saw the moment he had seen it, as the tips of his ears turned pink and he glared at her, before taking the picture and shoving it in one drawer.
So yes, her sleep had much improved by the fluffy pillows, but from time to time, when she was feeling particularly in touch with her soul she was scared of its darkness. Then she thought about what might've happened to her if she hadn't done the things she did, and would promptly paint over the blackness of her soul with the same deadly paint. She figured if she painted enough, then the part of her that was still golden would be hidden away.
Her attention was brought back to the unconscious man she had tied to the chair as he groaned. Kira let the papers in her hands fall and looked at him with a smile. "Good morning, sleepyhead. About time you woke up."
