EUPHORIA

Migraine

The rain had been falling for hours. The kind of steady, rhythmic downpour that usually calmed her. But tonight, it only made the silence heavier.

Damian sat at the table with his sketchbook open, pencil gliding across the page. Titus slept at his feet, his breathing steady and deep. Everything seemed at peace until a faint, broken sound cut through the quiet.

“Rae?” His voice softened instantly, barely above a whisper.

He turned—she was on the couch, one hand gripping the armrest, the other clutching her head. Her hair hung around her face like a shadow, and her aura pulsed weakly in shades of violet and black.

“Raven,” he said again, crossing the room in two strides.

She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, her voice strained. “He’s… angry. He’s trying to—” A wince cut her off. “I can’t block him out.”

Damian’s chest tightened. He dropped to his knees beside her. “Habibi, breathe. Don’t let him in.”

But the air around them had already begun to shift—temperature dropping, lights flickering as if something unseen brushed the edges of reality. Trigon’s voice wasn’t fully there, but its echo threaded through the walls like static.

Damian’s hand found hers, grounding her. “Stay with me.”

Her pupils dilated, her power trembling beneath her skin. “He’s angry at you,” she whispered. “He knows you keep me—” She gasped, fingers digging into his arm as another wave of pain rippled through her skull.

Damian didn’t flinch. He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Then he can rage all he wants. You’re mine to protect, and he’ll never touch you again.”

Her eyes flickered red for an instant. The sound in the air deepened—a voice ancient and low, barely words but full of fury. Damian could feel it, pressing against them like a storm trying to break through glass.

“Raven.” His tone softened, though his heart pounded. “Listen to me. Breathe.”

She tried, shaking, sweat gathering along her hairline. The migraine was unbearable—Trigon’s influence clawing at her mind, demanding space. She pressed her forehead against Damian’s chest as if hiding from it might help.

“Too loud,” she whispered. “He won’t stop.”

Damian’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. “Then let me be louder.”

He started to whisper in Arabic, voice calm and steady. Words of grounding, of peace, of control. He didn’t even realize he was rocking her slightly, the movement instinctive. His fingers brushed slow circles along her back.

The energy in the air pushed once more—hard, desperate—and then faltered.

Raven’s body trembled, her power flickering like dying embers before dimming completely. She sagged against him, exhausted, still trembling faintly.

Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to—”

Damian pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “Don’t apologize. You fight him every day. You’re the strongest person I know.”

She let out a shaky breath that sounded almost like a sob. “I hate that he’s part of me.”

“I don’t,” he murmured. “Because you’re still you. You control it, not him.”

Her breathing slowed. She shifted closer, one hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. It was grounding—the only thing that seemed real after the chaos in her head.

He stayed silent, holding her until her body finally began to relax. His thumb traced over her jawline, wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized fell.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “He’s gone for now.”

She hesitated, whispering faintly, “What if he comes back?”

“Then I’ll be here,” he said, voice soft as rain. “I always am.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her body sinking into him fully. The weight of her head settled against his bare shoulder. Within minutes, her breathing evened out, her power retreating entirely to its calm, violet glow.

Damian stayed there, seated on the floor with her in his arms, long after she’d fallen asleep. The apartment was quiet again except for the steady fall of rain.

Titus padded over, ears drooping as he sniffed Raven’s hand before lying down beside them, his head resting gently on her knee.

Damian shifted only slightly, brushing his lips against the top of her head. “You’re safe, habibi,” he murmured. “No one—nothing—will ever take you from me.”

He kept his eyes on her face, memorizing the peace that replaced the pain. The world outside could collapse, and he wouldn’t have moved.

Hours passed before he finally carried her to bed, careful not to wake her. She murmured something soft in her sleep, his name mixed with a sigh.

He smiled faintly, tucking the blanket around her and lying down beside her, one arm draped over her waist. The storm outside still whispered against the windows, but it no longer sounded angry—just quiet, like the echo of her father fading away.

Damian exhaled and pressed his lips against her temple.

“Sleep, Raven,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”