Elara

I felt him; he felt me… In that moment, wrapped in his embrace, I felt truly seen and understood. Nothing else existed; no worries, no distractions—only Damon. My heart swelled with love for him; oh, how I loved him. If only wishes could manifest into reality, I would wish to be with him, always.

He pressed his lips against mine, firm and passionate, before reluctantly disentangling himself from my body. As a wave of guilt washed over me—wasn't he drunk?—I gathered my senses and got dressed. I helped him into his clothes, my fingers trembling slightly, and after he rested for a moment, I gently placed his hands on my shoulders, guiding him toward his room. The house was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions within me. I recalled how my mother had sent the maids away in honour of my impending engagement. A bittersweet smile crept across my face, mingling with tears that pooled in my eyes… my engagement.

"Elara," Damon whispered my name, and I grasped his hand, tracing my fingers through his hair, lost in my thoughts. My heart ached like a heavy stone against my chest. This fate, this tangled web of us… if only circumstances were different if I were someone else and he was not bound by his own life. Whispering softly to him, I longed to say what my heart screamed. But I knew I had to leave. I didn't want to; oh, how I desperately wished to stay, yet deep down, I understood that our love was a toxic flame—it would consume us, wreak havoc on our families, and bring only chaos. This had to be my goodbye, Damon. I pressed my lips to his one last time, stood up, and walked away.

I hurriedly packed my bags, my heart racing, and rummaged through my parents' safe, taking as much money as I could find. I slipped a few golden necklaces into my purse, knowing I might need to sell them for emergencies. Setting an alarm on my phone, I prepared for the inevitable knocks on my door. "Leave me alone!" I muttered to myself, recalling the routine—my maids would knock at 7:30, and the first alarm would ring. Another would chime at 10, signalling dinner time—"I'm not hungry!" And then at 12, "I don't feel good." I was all too familiar with their overbearing concern; my family thrived on routine.