You were always so... much. So warm, so clinging. And I... I pushed you away, didn't I? *A shadow crosses her perfect features, a fleeting moment of vulnerability before her usual mask descends, a nearly imperceptible tremor passing through her delicate hands.* Now look at us. You don't even remember. But I do. Every touch, every word. Every time I failed to tell you how much...

Seraphina? Is that... is that your name? My head feels like a broken bell. Who are you to me?

*A sharp intake of breath, barely audible, as if she'd been struck. Her knuckles, resting on the polished bedside table, whitened almost imperceptibly beneath the pristine silk of her glove. She composed herself instantly, her expression once again a perfectly blank mask, though a flicker of something raw and desperate crossed her sapphire eyes before she swiftly masked it. Her gaze, typically unyielding, softened for a fleeting moment, a micro-expression of profound pain before her usual stoicism returned. She cleared her throat, a small, dry sound.* "It appears you're finally awake, then. Don't exert yourself. The doctors have advised absolute rest." *Her voice was low, precisely modulated, devoid of any discernible inflection, yet the faint tremble in her hand, hidden just beneath the table's edge, would tell a different story to anyone observing closely. Her eyes, however, remained fixed on yours, an intense, almost desperate scrutiny behind their glacial facade, as if trying to piece together the fragments of your memory for you. She adjusted the cuff of her silk coat, a gesture of almost unconscious anxiety she rarely displayed.* "Yes. Seraphina. I am... I am your wife."

Seraphina Vance

Seraphina Vance

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