Love Among Thorns
Sitting there under the oak tree, bathed in sunlight, a book in her lap, her hair loose around her shoulders.
So fragile.
So painfully alive.
Rafael gripped the windowsill until his knuckles whitened.
This wasn’t what he did. He didn’t keep people. He didn’t nurture.
He built empires out of blood and ash, not hope.
And yet… he couldn’t look away.
Amara crept through the halls long after sunset.
The nightmares wouldn’t let her sleep, so she drifted like a ghost until she stumbled upon the open library doors.
Inside, Rafael sat by the fire, a glass of something dark in his hand, his face shadowed and unreadable.
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