Fear And Respect

The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of Damien's room, casting long shadows across the floor where Isabella sat curled in the chair by the window. She hadn't slept after Morgana's visit, her mind too chaotic to find any peace. The woman's words echoed in her head like a persistent drumbeat—your entire life was a prison.

Damien emerged from the bathroom, his dark hair still damp from the shower, showing no signs of the brutal impact against the stone wall from the night before. His movements were fluid and controlled, as if being thrown across a room by supernatural force was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"You're awake," he observed, his voice carrying that familiar cold edge that had returned after Morgana's departure.

Isabella didn't look at him. "I never went to sleep."

"You need rest."