Diana
He hadn’t stirred.
Not once since the moment, his eyes fluttered shut after the kiss.
His breathing was shallow but steady, his skin pale against the dark pillows, and his black veins still faintly visible along his jaw and neck. Whatever poison he’d taken had wrung his body dry, and now he lay in a heavy sleep that looked too much like death for my comfort.
I hadn't left his side. Not last night. Not the night before. Not the night before that.
Three nights.
Three nights of sitting beside him, watching over him, waiting for the weight in my chest to lift.
It didn’t. If anything, it sank deeper, rooting itself like some parasitic vine that fed off guilt and dread and the cruel weight of not knowing what the morning would bring.
I ran my fingers along the edge of the blanket
