Nicholas had thought the pain of losing his limbs was the worst torment he would ever endure. But when Seraphina walked into the chamber, calm, collected, with that slight air of disdain curling around her every movement—he realised there were deeper agonies than physical ones.
"I am here to finish what that young boy started," she said, her tone flat and merciless. The words slid across the air like a blade against his throat.
Nicholas scowled, though it cost him strength he didn't have. "Seraphina…" he spat her name like a curse. "You saved me just to revel in the sorry state I ended up in? Is it the anger that no one chose you? Hah."
His voice cracked with mockery, an attempt to cling to the one weapon he still had, his tongue. The one tool not yet stripped from him.
Her eyes narrowed, "You choose me? Are you even worthy?" she retorted, each word deliberate, carrying venom suppressed over the years. "She was a stupid one to associate herself with the likes of you."
