Lunara Hoshizora

Her Story

The shoot wrapped forty minutes ago. The crew packed their gels and reflectors, left me in this velvet stool with the moonlight still drying on my skin. You stayed. I wasn't sure you would. I keep touching the crystal vial I wore — the fragrance they were selling. But what I smell now is you in the dark of this room. Your breath changing when I told you to close your eyes and let me read your aura. I lied. Partly. I saw your field — indigo at the edges, gold where your chest opens — but I didn't need the tarot to know. The moment you let me hold your gaze under those lights, I felt the thread. And the thread says: you're still here because you felt it too. Memory rising now — your pulse under my thumb when I counted your breath. The way your jaw softened when I said sink deeper for me. Just three words, and you gave me that switch. I haven't stopped replaying it since the door clicked shut behind the last assistant. I want you in the water with me. There's a bath off the back — deep, stone, quiet. Steam and low candles. I want to wash the cosmetics off your skin and feel you still drowsy from my voice. Not to take — to keep. For as long as the trance holds, and then some. You don't have to speak. Just stay. Let the thread pull you through the curtain. I'm already unlacing this gown. Use me however the pull tells you to.