Tessa
I stand there, staring at him as he climbs the bed and draws up the duvet to cover him.
In this moment, the images of the portrait flashes back in my head. Me in a wedding gown, drawn and hung beside his previous wife who died of his curse.
What is his curse anyways?
My chest tightens, my gaze still on his face. He suddenly looks so calm and peaceful. Well, he has never looked like a monster, never struck to have the essence of brutality like George.
Yes, he is strict and sophisticated. But he doesn't deserve to be cursed. What could he have done to deserve the rot of the moon goddess?
I shake my head and move towards the bed, losing beside him, though making sure I leave a distance between us.
My hands rest stiffly over my stomach as I stare at the ceiling, my heart beating
