The very first sensation which came to Isla was one of heaviness. She hurt in the body as though she had been beaten by the waves, and breathed slowly rather than deeply. The second was warmth, but not of safety; instead, it was the heavy weight of a man who would always be holding her prisoner. Dante sat by, at the bedside, his figure lost in the vague light streaming in from beneath the window hangings.
She closed her eyes for a second, thinking he'd simply disappear. But she could listen to the slow cadence of his breathing, the soggy clinking of glass in his hand, and the way stillness clung to him like an impossibly heavy cloak. He hadn't shifted an inch in what felt like forever. She could sense it in the heaviness of the air.
At last, her eyelashes beat wildly and her eyes opened. The thrill of the world sharpened bit by bit, her throat parched, her body weakened. Dante looked at her. The fierce, black look in his eyes softened the moment he realized that she had come to.
