The wind stirred like a whispered warning, sweeping through the trees and threading through the mist. It lifted Paige's hair gently, making it dance in the air—like delicate feathers caught in a storm—each strand brushing softly across Cecilion's cheek.
For a moment, time seemed to halt. The world around them dulled into a silence so heavy it pressed against his eardrums, and all he could feel was the warmth of her breath mingling with his when he turned to her... supposedly.
And yet, she kissed him.
It wasn't desperate, nor forceful. It was soft—hesitant, like someone reaching for something familiar in the dark. But to Cecilion, it felt like a strike.
His body froze in place, his breath caught halfway in his throat. His mind screamed at him, yet his limbs wouldn't obey—until his fingers twitched, and he gathered enough willpower to shove her back.
