"I'll die". She breathed quietly. "And it won't be OCD or FMF that kills me, it'll be you".
In the dark study, Alvise sat behind his desk with a glass of fine red wine in his hand. His gaze remained fixed on the glowing flames burning in the hearth, it was quiet in here, except for the occasional licks and pops of the fire; the crackling of embers splitting in two every now and then.
She had had him lost for words, her words had affected him so much that he had been unable do do or say anything as he watched her walk away: run away from him.
He had stood there a while longer trying to make sense of what she had said, trying to understand why she would begin to think that he would be the death of her.
He had gone into his study, taken off his jacket and settled into his seat with a bot
