“Heaven have mercy…”
Someone gave a horrified gasp as they caught sight of the figure Damien was cradling in his arms. It was barely distinguishable as human, more akin to a charred husk that bore no resemblance to a living being. Not a stitch of clothing nor a hint of a face was discernible on the blackened corpse. Suddenly, something shiny fell with a soft clink.
“Oh, my lady…” a servant sobbed.
There was not a soul present who didn’t recognize the object as a jewel of House Thisse. Priscilla, who had awoken from her fainting spell, shook her head from side to side in disbelief. “Damien, my dear…”
Kneeling outside the scorched remains of the cottage, Damien remained as still as a statue. His voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, “What are you doing, Chloe? It’s time to rise, my love…”
