The sheets barely covered his body, his figure, exposed to the cold of the room and to my gaze, seemed almost unreal with a fragility. He was naked, vulnerable, like a broken statue in the middle of a desecrated temple. My heart was pounding with a toxic mix of rage and despair that was becoming harder and harder to contain, along with dark thoughts that pounded inside my head like caged beasts trying to devour my sanity that was already starting to collapse like dominoes.
My eyes slid, helplessly over his scarred skin: bruises, scratches on his chest, traces of struggle.... I couldn't determine which hurt more. His chest was rising and falling slowly, unconscious, but alive. A kind of dark mist hovered over him, like a faint fog that kept him in a deep sleep from which he could not escape. Binding spell. Charm of obedience. Crowd control magic, all sorts of spells were reflected in my glasses.
