❝ 𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ʲᵃˢᵖᵉʳ ʰᵃˡᵉ ( EN )

☇ 𝟯𝟰

When he finally entered the room, Jasper immediately caught the metallic scent of blood. It hit him like a dagger, making him tense, his vampire senses heightened by the smell he knew all too well. It was almost nauseating. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting against his instincts, desperately trying to suppress them—the need to turn away from this room where every particle of air seemed heavy with that dreaded scent. A brutal, merciless slap to his composure.

The air was heavy, thick, as if each particle carried the weight of accumulated pain. A suffocating atmosphere, where even the light seemed to bear down on his shoulders.

His jaw tightened, his fists clenched. The smell reminded him of his past, of the beast he had always fought to suppress. But he forced himself to stay grounded, to resist the unbearable temptation. He was fighting for her, for the woman he loved. He drew strength from the love he carried for Theodora. He couldn't afford to falter, not now. Not when she needed him more than ever.

Time, caught in a macabre dance, twisted around them, distorted by anguish. Each second stretched into a heavy eternity.

The room was shrouded in semi-darkness, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the machines humming around Theodora's bed. Theodora, lying there, seemed so small, so fragile. The dim light cast shadows on her face, revealing cheeks hollowed by pain, dark purple circles under her closed eyes, her hair scattered across the pillow, her skin an alarming pallor. The bandages covering her arms and legs were silent reminders of everything she had endured. Every breath she took seemed like a monumental effort, each rise and fall of her chest accompanied by a silent grimace. Every mark, every wound, felt like a blow to Jasper's soul.

She was nothing more than a shadow of herself, a flower battered by the relentless winds of pain. A fragile silhouette teetering between life and oblivion.

Jasper approached quietly, as if afraid any sound might break her further. His footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, and his gaze never left Theodora's face. He stopped just a few inches from the bed, reaching out to brush her fingers, but froze halfway. He didn't dare. He was too afraid of worsening her suffering, too afraid to see the hatred in her eyes that mirrored the loathing he felt for himself. His trembling hand rested lightly on the edge of the bed.

His own fear was a dark shroud wrapping around him, an invisible but crushing weight. He was a prisoner of his own regrets.

"Theodora," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, "I'm here."

His words seemed to dissolve into the air, as though they couldn't reach the young woman. But slowly, she opened her eyes. Her irises, usually so full of life, were dull, lifeless. Her gaze landed on him, piercing through him as if he were nothing more than a shadow, a ghost from the past. She remained silent, her lips pressed tight, refusing to speak. The resentment was too raw, the bitterness too strong. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her tears, of her screams. She wouldn't give him anything anymore.

The weight of his betrayal, invisible but palpable, hung between them like an unbreachable wall built from silence and accumulated pain.

"It's your fault," she finally murmured, each word a dagger she deliberately drove into his heart, robbing him of breath. Her words weren't shouted or screamed. They were far worse—a simple statement, a cold and implacable judgment.

Each word was a drop of poison, slowly but surely seeping into his veins. A venom that burned, consuming him from the inside out.

Jasper felt his chest tighten, as if the air had suddenly been sucked from the room. Theodora's words cut into him like sharp blades, sinking deep into his heart, leaving wounds that would never heal. He staggered, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of the pain he felt.