Alaric’s POV
The weight of her in my arms was a stark contrast to the vibrant, fiery spirit that usually defined Elowen. She was a whirlwind of motion, a sharp wit, a force of nature barely contained within her slender frame. To feel her so pliant, so utterly still, sent a fresh wave of icy dread washing over me. She barely stirred as I carried her across the worn threshold of our shared sanctuary, the grand doors of the mansion closing silently behind us, shutting out the lingering shadows of the dawn.
Her head nestled beneath my chin, her dark, tangled hair brushing softly against my jaw. One arm, usually so quick to gesture or to reach out in affection, lay loosely around my shoulder, offering no real support. The other rested limply in her lap, her fingers pale and still. I hated this. I loathed the sight of her diminished, drained of the incandescent energy that usually crackled around her like summer lightning. ‘Fragile’ was a word that should never be associated with Elowen. Sh
