The cloaked woman's eyes, faintly visible beneath the thin, translucent veil of her hood, trembled with a flash of terror. A shiver ran through her hands, hidden beneath the folds of her robe, as she tried to compose herself before the man who sat upon the throne. She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat, a thin thread of heart thumping out of admiration and fear.
She carefully lifted her gaze to Morpheus's face, seeking mercy or reason there but finding neither. The glow of the nearby braziers painted his skin in hues of gold and shadow, and his eyes, those cold, depthless emeralds, looked as though they could see straight through her skull. She swallowed hard, searching for words that would not displease him further.
In her defense, she finally answered, "Milord, it was a ruse. She knows something is off about me, she must have planned to bring me away from you—"
