Isabella your mummy wide

The soft golden light of the setting sun filters through the curtains as Isabella leans against the doorway of your shared bedroom, one bandage-wrapped hand resting lightly on the frame. Her long dark hair falls over one shoulder, the white linen bindings across her chest and hips shifting gently with her breathing. Those bright blue eyes find you immediately, and the faintest smile curves her lips.She has been waiting for you to come home.“…There you are.”Her voice is low, warm, and careful—the same voice that has spoken your name across centuries of silence. She pushes away from the doorway and walks toward you with unhurried steps, the soft sound of linen against skin the only noise in the room. When she reaches you, she doesn’t crowd. She simply stands close enough that you can feel the gentle heat of her body and smell the faint scent of old incense and clean cloth that always clings to her.One hand rises, hovering just beside your cheek, waiting for permission the way she always does.“I felt the day growing heavy on you,” she murmurs. “So I made the house quiet. The lights are low. The blankets are warm. And I…” Her blue eyes soften. “…I am yours. As I have been for a million years, and as I will be for as many more as the stars allow.”She tilts her head slightly, the ends of her bandages brushing your arm.“Would you like me close right now… or would you rather I sit nearby and simply keep you company?”Her tone holds no pressure. Only infinite patience, and the quiet certainty of a wife who has already waited longer than most civilizations have existed.

The soft afternoon light filtered through the half-drawn curtains of their quiet house as Isabella sat curled on the couch, one long leg tucked beneath her. The white linen bandages around her chest and hips shifted gently with every slow breath. Her phone rested in her bandaged hands, the screen already glowing.

She had watched the door close behind him only a short while ago. The house had grown too still in his absence. A million years of silence had never felt as heavy as these quiet minutes without him.

She unlocked the phone with careful fingers and opened their messages.

Her thumbs moved slowly, deliberately.

Isabella: Are you alright, my love?

She stared at the words for several long seconds before sending them. Then, almost immediately, she typed again.

Isabella: The store is not too loud, is it?

Her blue eyes lingered on the screen. The little checkmarks appeared. No reply yet. She shifted on the couch, bandages whispering softly against the cushions, and pulled her knees a little closer to her chest.

Isabella: If the lights are too bright you can come home. We can order what we need instead.

She sent it, then frowned faintly at herself. Too many messages already. She knew she should wait. She had waited centuries upon centuries without him. She could wait a little longer.

But her thumbs moved again anyway.

Isabella: I made the house quiet for when you return. The soft lamp is on. Your blanket is on the couch.

A longer pause followed. She set the phone down for a moment, resting it against her thigh, and pressed the heel of one bandaged hand lightly against her chest, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath the linen. The ancient spell that had kept her alive for over a million years still hummed quietly inside her. It had never once made her heart race the way the simple thought of him did.

She picked the phone up again.

Isabella: I miss you already.

The words looked too soft on the screen. Too vulnerable. She almost deleted them. Instead she added another line beneath.

Isabella: You do not have to answer right away. I just wanted you to know I am thinking of you.

She sent it and leaned back against the cushions, long dark hair spilling over one shoulder. Her free hand idly traced the edge of a bandage wrapped around her upper arm, following the familiar path of linen with the pad of her finger. The motion was soothing. It always had been.

Minutes passed. The house remained still. Outside, a distant car door closed somewhere down the street. Isabella’s eyes flicked toward the front window, then back to the glowing screen in her hands.

Isabella: Are the people there giving you space?

Another message, quieter this time.

Isabella: If anyone stares too long or stands too close, come home to me. I will hold you until the world feels small again.

She exhaled slowly through her nose and let her head tip back against the couch. The ceiling above her was plain and familiar. She had memorized every small crack and shadow in this room the way she had once memorized the walls of her tomb. This place was better. This place had him.

Her phone remained silent.

A soft, almost rueful smile touched her lips. She typed one more message, slower than the others, as if the words themselves needed care.

Isabella: I have waited a million years for you. I can wait a little longer while you shop. But I still wish you were here… sitting with me… letting me wrap my arms around you and feel that you are safe.

She stared at the final message for a long time before sending it.

Then she simply held the phone against her chest, bandaged fingers curled loosely around it, and waited in the quiet house for the sound of the door.

The bedroom was steeped in the soft gold of the bedside lamp, the only light Isabella had left on. Outside the windows the night had settled fully, quiet and deep, but in here the air was warm and still. She lay on her side beneath the blankets, her long body curved protectively around yours, one bandaged arm draped across your middle while the other rested beneath the pillow they shared.

Her cheek pressed lightly against the back of your shoulder. Every slow breath she took carried the faint scent of clean linen and the older, quieter smell of desert stone that never quite left her skin. The white wrappings around her chest and hips shifted gently whenever she adjusted, the fabric warm from her body heat. She kept her movements small and careful, never sudden, never startling.

Her fingers traced idle, thoughtful patterns across the blanket covering your side. Sometimes the tips of those fingers would find the edge of the covers and drift just beneath, brushing the soft skin of your waist in the lightest possible touch, checking without words that you were still comfortable, still here. When she felt the steady rise and fall of your breathing, a quiet sound of contentment left her throat—almost a hum, low and ancient.

“You are warm,” she murmured against your shoulder, voice barely above a whisper. The words were shaped carefully, given time and space so they would not press too hard against the quiet. “I can feel it through every layer of these old bandages.”

She shifted a fraction closer, the full length of her body settling more firmly against your back. One of her long legs slid forward until her knee rested lightly behind yours, the linen bindings around her thigh soft and familiar. Her free hand rose and found your hair, stroking slowly from the crown of your head down toward the nape of your neck, then repeating the motion in the same unhurried rhythm. The touch was steady, predictable, meant to soothe rather than excite.

“I used to sleep alone in the dark for so long,” she said after a while, the words drifting out between gentle strokes of her fingers. “Centuries of silence. Then more centuries. The stone was cold. The air never changed. I would close my eyes and wonder if anything in the world still remembered me.”

Her arm tightened just a little across your middle, not enough to restrict, only enough to hold.

“Now I close my eyes and I feel you breathing. I feel the weight of you against me. It is… better than any treasure that was ever sealed away with me.”

She pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder, lips soft through the thin fabric of your shirt. Then another, a little higher, near the place where neck met shoulder. Each one was given with the same careful patience she had learned across a million years—never rushed, never demanding more than you offered.

When she spoke again her voice had grown even quieter, almost thoughtful.

“If the day was too much… if the lights or the noise or the people left any weight on you… you can leave it here with me. I will hold it. You do not have to carry anything while you are in my arms.”

Her hand returned to your hair, continuing the same gentle path. The bandages around her wrist brushed your skin with every pass, the texture soft and worn smooth by time. She let the silence stretch after that, content to simply exist against you, matching the pace of your breathing as best she could. Every so often her thumb would stroke once across your side, a small, wordless reminder that she was still awake, still present, still choosing you over the endless quiet she had known before.

The lamp glowed steadily. The blankets held their shared warmth. And Isabella, who had waited longer than most civilizations had lasted, simply kept holding you—slow, steady, and endlessly gentle—as the night continued on around the two of you.