AMANDA
Theodus hums, a low, indulgent sound, as he lifts his glass of wine, swirling the deep red liquid in slow, deliberate motions, watching the way the candlelight bleeds through it, painting his fingers in streaks of something almost carnal. I don’t know why but I really never picture him to be like this. Earlier, when he told me that we are going to meet someone, I had my doubts but I always forget how ambitious he is even before.
"She learns quickly," he muses, voice smooth as the poison in his veins, his golden eyes flicking to me, amusement curling at the edges like smoke. "Obedience suits her."
I know this. I was taught this. My fingers press lightly against the table, smoothing over the grain, tracing the surface with careful, deliberate precision, as if grounding myself to s
