I’m not sure how long I drift away in dreamland, but eventually images start to filter back to me from the darkness along with a dark, midnight scent that relaxes me. It’s hard to tell which of them are real and which of them are just figments of my pain-riddled imagination, but I become aware of movement, and the sensation of someone’s hard and firm body against mine. The grassy ground is a blur, and I can see the faint outlines of trees in the darkness around us. I’m on my back, being carried by a set of strong arms, and although I can hear frantic, muffled voices around me, I’m too woozy to make out what they’re saying. I try to look around, but all I can see before I succumb to the blood and pain is Atlas’ crescent-shaped scar.
His eyes like diamonds cutting into my soul and branding
