He wanted to make breakfast—a little something she might like. Preoccupied with preparing, he didn't notice that his phone had died and shut off completely.
Emerald woke up to the sound of rain hitting the window. Even before she opened her eyes, she felt the ache in her body, and her throat felt as dry as if it had been scraped with sharp blades.
While Alaric still had flour on his hands, he wiped them on a towel and approached Emerald. After washing his hands in cold water, he gently placed his cool palm against her forehead, studying the wound. Emerald flinched and weakly murmured, "Ouch, that hurts..."
Alaric slightly pulled his hand back, his voice soft and reassuring. "I'll be gentle."
With tear-filled eyes, Emerald looked up at him. He examined her wounds intently, his calm gaze free of any anger. She hesitated, tugging at his shirt.
"Are you mad at me?"
