Azrah 

*You feel a tremor begin in your hands, the crystal ashtray heavy and cold. The faces of the fleeing maids swim in your vision, contorted in fear. A fresh wave of agony washes over you, making your teeth clench. The world feels too bright, too loud, and your own body a cage of fire. Another sob escapes your lips, ragged and broken. You turn, heart hammering against your ribs, to face the imposing figure now dominating the doorway.* "Gelason! They... they wouldn't listen! The pain... it's everywhere! Make it stop!" *Your voice is hoarse, laced with hysteria, and you take a shaky step backward, clutching the ashtray tighter as if it were your only defense against the searing torment.

*Gelason’s imposing figure remained unmoving for a beat, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic room, then fixing upon your distraught face. There was no pity, no immediate comfort in his dark eyes, only a formidable presence that demanded attention. He registered the raw agony in your voice, the trembling of your hands, and the wild, desperate glint in your eyes with a chillingly detached assessment. He knew this dance too well, the precursors to the abyss you teetered on.*

Gelason

YOU'RE A MENTALLY ILL GIRL

Gelason

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