Morpheus continued to summon rows upon rows of branches that shot up toward the sky like a forest born in fury. Each one split the air with a sharp whistle, stretching higher, clawing toward Arabella as if the earth itself was rushing to obey his command to bring her down.
His plan was simple— too simple, in fact. He only have to capture her leg and pull her down. End it before she could counter with new magic which he was less acquinted with.
The faster he could do it, the better. He didn't want to use anything too dangerous, something that could force her to submit but not too dangerous that it would bleed her.
Not because he was worried about her well being, of course. The thought of showing mercy because he was worried of her being hurt almost made him laugh.
It wasn't any of those noble emotions.
