In a hurry, the girl who had wrapped her hands around Morpheus jumped backward, her body trembling as though she had been struck by lightning. She hastily pulled her clothes to cover her exposed front, clutching the fabric against her chest as if it could shield her from the shame burning her skin. Bowing down deeply to Arabella — the witch she had served multiple times during dinner — her voice caught in her throat. She dared not speak, dared not breathe too loudly, and yet her eyes, wide and frantic, turned toward Morpheus, whose eyebrows were drawn tight in an unreadable expression.
Fear for what could happen next twisted her stomach. She took a step back, and then another, wanting to flee the room before the tension could break, but before her trembling feet could take her far enough, Arabella's voice echoed through the chamber — calm, commanding, and cold.
"Wait."
