Celeste's condition was getting worse. She had no energy to scold Damon or tell him to lower his voice anymore. Damon whipped the horse, urging it to gallop faster. He could hear nothing but the howling wind and his own heartbeat. "Don't die, Celeste. Don't leave me alone in this world," he thought. Unknowingly, he was grabbing the reins so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palm. He had never imagined falling in love with such a woman. On the outside, she appeared intelligent, sophisticated, calm, and independent. But in truth, she was fragile and troublesome. She'd fall sick easily—each time dangerously close to death. The last time he was this terrified was when he found out she had self-harmed. She was bleeding profusely. He could even see her bones from a number of wounds. A voice in the back of his mind now whispered, "What if she dies?" No, he wouldn't allow that to happen. Damon rode the horse across the pastoral area at breakneck speed for almost an hour
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