Cassius stared at what he had created before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. The flower he had stitched seemed to be mocking him from the cloth. And when he lifted his gaze, Esme was already grinning so broadly it was almost grotesque, as though she were possessed by some gleeful devil finally witnessing the downfall she had been praying for.
But before he could speak, Esme lunged.
She shoved him aside with such eagerness that the chair screeched against the floor, snatching the linen from his hand with wild triumph. She tore it from him as though she were ripping open a long awaited revelation, clutching the fabric and nearly sprinting as she thrust the embroidery toward Morpheus.
