Her strength was limited; all she could do was cry out in anguish, plead, but it was no use; she was like someone reciting a monologue on a stage, all alone.
Later, she couldn't even speak.
In the darkness, there was only her agony.
She didn't want to scream, but the pain was too much.
All the beautiful serenades, the charming verses from the novels, they were all non-existent.
He had not a shred of compassion for her, only destruction and devastation.
Eventually, her voice turned hoarse, she could no longer shout, she was like a broken rag doll.
Maybe her soul had disappeared, or perhaps the pain had numbed her, to the extent that she eventually felt nothing at all.
When she intermittently woke up, her vision was blurry, she could barely make out his figure, only those eyes as fierce as a wolf's, pitiful eyes.
Those eyes, since that year, had left her with a severe psychological disorder.
She hated him, feared him, her body would tremble at the sight of him.