|Gryphon's POV|
She's trembling, still coiled in on herself like she's trying to contain a hurricane inside skin that's far too thin to hold it. The notes of the song we played together still echo in the marble and velvet silence of Asphodel's morning light, but now they feel like a requiem—a mourning hymn for all the parts of her she was never allowed to keep.
I reach out, slowly, carefully—like she's made of glass and barbed wire both—and when my fingers finally graze her cheek, she flinches, but doesn't pull away. Her skin is warm, damp from the tears that haven't stopped. I cup her face gently, cradling her like she's something sacred, like touching her wrong might unravel the whole damn world. And maybe it would.
Her eyes are a storm.
But I look straight into them and tuck a stra
