She amused me, even though she lied.
The little apothecary thought herself so clever, kneeling there in chains, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird's. I could smell the deception on her, that sharp, citrus tang beneath the herbal musk of her craft.
Interesting.
I circled her slowly, letting the silence stretch. She held herself rigid, shoulders squared, but her fingers betrayed her, clenching and unclenching in the folds of her tunic. She is scared of me.
"You told my demons you could cure me," I murmured, trailing a claw along the curve of her shoulder.
She shivered. Not only from fear.
"I told them I was an apothecary," she lied, her voice admirably steady. "They drew their own conclusions."
Ah. There it was, that spark of defiance. It lit up her dull mortal eyes, made them almost... compelling. I was entranced by them.
I crouched before her, close enough to watch her pupils dilate. "And what would you say," I breathed, letting a whisper of hellfire dance between my fingers, "if I told you my affliction isn't physical"?
Her throat worked as she swallowed. "I'd say you're wasting my time. "
A laugh tore from my chest, genuine amusement for the first time in three years . "Oh, I do like you."
I gripped her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. The warmth of her skin seeped into my fingers, unsettling in its vitality. Mortals were usually so fragile, so fleeting. But this one...
This one burned.
"Tell me, little apothecary," I purred, leaning in until my lips brushed the shell of her ear, "have you ever cured a broken heart?"
She went still. Too still.
Then—
"Only my own," she whispered.
The words hung between us, vibrating with unspoken truths. I pulled back to study her face, searching for the lie.
I Found none.
How... unexpected.
"Perhaps," I mused, tracing the rapid flutter of her pulse, "we can heal each other?." I said to myself than to her.
Her breath hitched.
And for the first time since Delphine's death, I felt something other than emptiness.