VERSE TWO: HONEY AND SULPHUR

Damon woke as gentle rays of sunlight filtered across his face through the blinds in his room. Their room. His golden eyes opened part-way so that he could take a moment to stare at the clock on the nightstand. 6:03 AM. Too damn early. He was awake, however, and there was nothing he could do about it by this point.

The fox sat up in bed slowly, careful not to disturb its other occupant. Damon stretched languidly, groaning and popping a few joints in his neck. He turned with a smile to look over the angel sleeping peacefully by his side. How should he have been so fortunate as to be worth the affections of such a creature?

Miranda Vulpes was a gorgeous vixen. She was small without being petite and shapely without being voluptuous. Her fur was a lustrous red-orange with a dazzlingly white ventral stripe starting on her chin and running down the front of her body, and Damon was lucky enough to know that it ended where her thighs met her body. That splash of white appeared again at the tip of the she-fox's luxurious, bushy tail, preceded by a ring of deep black. The black was complimentary to her ears and the 'glove' and 'sock' markings on all four of her paws, starting at her wrists and ankles. Damon adored those little mitten-markings.

Miranda was sleeping curled on her side, the bed sheets draped partially over her nude form. She kneaded one paw at the pillow where Damon's head had been a few moments before, sensing the loss of his warmth close-by. Damon smiled and carefully pulled the sheets up over Miranda a little more, leaning over her to plant a kiss on her cheek, careful not to disturb her.

"Morning, luv," he murmured into her ear, and it fluttered reflexively. "I'll fix us some breakfast." Damon gingerly extricated himself from their bed and threw on the shirt and trousers he'd worn the day before. He didn't bother with the belt; it wasn't the end of the world if his clothes were too loose around the home, and he could probably get a giggle out of Miranda if he 'accidentally' pantsed himself. He loved making her giggle.

Damon lingered by the door to favour his lady with another appreciative glance. The hint of her belly showed beneath the sheets, that slight swell impossible for Damon to ignore even in concealment. Reminded of his impending fatherhood filled the fox with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation that made his breath catch in his throat. He swallowed hard and turned to make his way into the kitchen.

---

Feeling anxious, his first reflex on reaching the kitchen in their small apartment was to reach for the carton of cigarettes on the counter. Tapping the box to knock some loose, Damon lifted a fag to his lips and hesitated. "Bollocks," he sighed, crumpling the smoke and flicking it across the countertop. He really ought to quit, all things considered.

The fox distracted himself by rummaging through the pantries and fridge for breakfast possibilities. Pickings were slim, of course, but that was his fault. Miranda hadn't started on her maternity leave yet and the hospital had been working her to the bone while they still were able. Absent a good excuse, Damon was just lazy and hated picking things up from the market. He did manage to find a half-empty carton of eggs, however, and as he set them down on the counter he stared at them long and hard.

Eggs. I'm going to be a father...How did this happen? I can't be a father...I'm not ready for something like this. I'm not even responsible enough to look after myself let alone Miranda and a little one. I doubt I'll make a good father...hell...I literally have no idea... How can Miranda be so calm about all of this?

I mean, shit, she's still just an intern...this isn't going to do her career any favours! And what the fuck am I supposed to do...how can I support a family serving people lattes? And it's not like our shitty band's going to start making us money any time...ever, really. Lord, I wish I were... I just...I don't know...I wish I didn't have to...deal...with...with this...

Damon felt strange all of a sudden, like a spell had come over him. His legs buckled and he braced an unsteady arm against the countertop to keep from falling over.

"G'morning, luv." Miranda's voice made Damon turn to see her languishing at the threshold of their bedroom. She was nude, mostly, the silky nightgown he'd gotten her last Valentine's Day clinging loosely to that perfect figure. Everything was perfect about her, there, in that last clear recollection Damon had of his beloved.

Then things changed.

Miranda's ears pinned back, her brow knit in concern. She took a step toward Damon, away from the bedroom.

No.

"Are you alright?" she ventured, hesitant.

No.

Damon's legs shook under him and he fell hard to his knees. He was dimly aware of the pain, and then of someone next to him.

Miranda.

She was speaking but the sweet sound of her voice was drowned out by the ringing in his throbbing ears.

"Something's...wrong...with...me," Damon choked on the words as he spoke. He felt hot. Too hot. Impossibly hot. His fur was on fire and he felt as though a thousand maggots writhed beneath the surface of his skin in a bid to burst free. Damon tried to speak again, to reassure Miranda, to ward her off - but his voice was stolen by a hacking cough. His vision swam, the tiled floor becoming a blur of earthen tones as darkness crept in from the periphery. His head pounded like it was caught in a vice, the pressure on his temples making it impossible to concentrate. His mouth watered as bile rose in the back of his throat. His nose wrinkled, overwhelmed by the sudden stench of sulphur that filled the room, the smell so powerful and pervasive it felt like it were a part of him, burning into him, through him.

Damon tried to turn, to look up at Miranda, desperate for the soothing balm of her presence. But he couldn't find her. He couldn't find anything. He claws at his face, maddened by his open, unseeing eyes as the world around him dissolved in inky darkness. Damon fell, but he never felt the floor catch up.

_ "'Ello, poppet."_

_ _