Seraphina's Point Of View
My hands shook violently against the ceramic basin, knuckles turning stark white as I gripped the cold porcelain. The room spun in a hazy, sickening tilt that made the black-and-white floor tiles blur into a dizzying mesh. The marble felt cold… too cold, but it was the only thing anchoring me to reality. I focused on that sensation, trying to use it as a lifeline against the fog threatening to consume my consciousness.
Adrian's grip on my upper arm tightened, his fingers digging uncomfortably into my skin through the sleeve of my dress. The pressure would leave bruises, I knew. He leaned closer, his breath hot against my cheek, reeking of whiskey and arrogance. "Come on, Seraphina," he said, his voice dripping with false concern that made my stomach turn. "Stop playing around. Look at you… you can barely stand straight."
