The room air was tight, sharp, the same which you would feel when standing alone in the middle of nowhere during a blizzard winter.
Silence came afterwards, deafening the eardrums, without any effect of whatsoever.
The weight of Sebastian's unspoken words were enough to cause this air of tightness. It was something which doesn't happen almost anytime—that been his attitude suddenly slipping off, like a bad emotion during a royal mismatch.
Belladonna didn't like it, she wanted to know more, probably drain every last word from him, so as not to produce more tension for herself, but to ease the built up pain and torment beneath his calm facade, something too smooth to believe.
"Would you want to talk about it?," She asked, coming closer. Definitely, a pat on the shoulder would have helped; that been if he wasn't towering over her.
"If I would, then—"
