š¹"The Quiet Flame"š¹
In shadowed halls where whispers dwell,
A fragile heart yet dares to swell.
Though storms may break, and cold winds bite,
Within her chest burns silent light.
She bends, she waits, she fears the night,
Yet deep within, she holds the fight.
No chain can bind, no glance can tame,
The quiet flame that knows her name.
š¹āāāāāāāāāāāāš¹
Morpheus' fingers hovered over his phone, indecision flickering across his otherwise calm face. Finally, with a measured breath, he pressed the screen.
"Who are you calling?" Aurora asked softly, her curiosity coated with a hint of concern.
"Bernard," he replied, his voice steady but distant, eyes not leaving the dark hallway outside.
Abigail perched on the edge of the chair, her hands trembling just enough to betray the storm inside. She looked delicate, almost fragileālike a bird caught in a gilded cageābut beneath that fragile exterior was a mind sharp as a blade. I will not break, she whispered to herself, the words barely audible over the drumbeat of her own heart.
Before Morpheus could connect the call, the door burst open with a violent slam, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. Every eye snapped toward the entrance.
Sullivan the Great stepped in, his black shirt clinging to lean, controlled muscle, trousers crisp, his presence filling the room before he even spoke. His gaze was cold, unyielding, measuring. He moved directly to the priest, as if the rest of the room were invisible.
Abigail's heart threatened to leap from her chest, yet her stance remained unbroken. Slowly, deliberately, she rose, her gaze dropping to the floor, her quiet demeanor hiding the fire that licked the edges of her composure.
A sharp intake of breath heralded Jasper's entrance. He stumbled in, winded and wide-eyed.
"IāI'm sorry for the delay, sir," he stammered, bowing hurriedly before finding a spot behind Morpheus.
Sullivan's glance flicked to his watch, eyes narrowing. "I have no more than fifteen minutes to spend here," he said, his tone razor-edged.
Abigail lifted her chin just slightly, the faintest quiver betraying nothing of the defiance simmering inside. "Fifteen minutes, sir," she murmured, voice soft, deliberate, carrying the quiet weight of someone who refuses to bend. "Then I will take what time I need."
A tense silence blanketed the room. The priest coughed softly, attempting to press the ceremony forward, but Abigail's composure was unwaveringāa delicate, unyielding force.
The vows were exchanged in hushed solemnity. Sullivan said nothing, his silence a blade cutting through the room. Abigail's voice rang clear, gentle yet filled with unspoken strength, repeating each promise with precision. When the rings were offered, Sullivan slipped his onto his finger with an almost imperceptible smirk. Abigail bit the inside of her lip, resisting the bitter laugh that threatened to escape, before placing her own ring on with calm defiance, a silent rebellion encoded in the motion.
With the ceremony concluded, Sullivan departed without a word, leaving a chill in his wake. Abigail followed, her steps soft yet unwavering, every motion a mask for the racing pulse beneath.
Elsa's voice quivered behind her. "Whatā¦ was that?" she whispered, eyes wide, scanning her daughter as if trying to read the aftermath of a storm.
Aurora and her mother trailed in silence, witnesses to Abigail's courage, to the pain she concealed behind her composed faƧade.
---
That evening, Sullivan drove home through the quiet streets, the car humming with tension. Jasper broke the silence, hesitant but insistent.
"What you did back thereā¦ it wasn't right, Sullivan. You humiliated herā"
Sullivan's hand shot out, clenching the wheel with deliberate force. "Get out of the car," he said, low and dangerous, the edge of steel in his voice cutting the space between them.
Jasper hesitated, eyes wide. "Sullyā"
"Now."
With a frustrated groan, Jasper swung the door open and stepped onto the asphalt. Sullivan didn't glance back. The car surged forward, leaving a trail of smoke and a muttered string of curses from Jasper behind him.
---
Meanwhile, in the quiet sanctuary of her room, Abigail sat wrapped in Elsa's gentle embrace, Aurora beside her. Tears, soft as morning dew, traced paths down her cheeks. Elsa whispered comfort, her words caressing Abigail's wounded pride, soothing the sting of humiliation with every syllable.
"Iā¦ I wish to stay with my parents a little longer before I go to his house," Abigail said, the edge of politeness softening the firmness beneath.
Aurora considered the request, weighing the day's events, and finally nodded. "Three days," she agreed softly. "Spend them with your parents."
Elsa and Abigail shared a silent, grateful glance.
"It's okay," Aurora added, a faint smile touching her lips. "You actually did well."
"She's such a kindhearted woman," Elsa murmured, pride and concern entwined in her voice.
"Yeah," Abigail said quietly, a flicker of determination in her eyes. "I hope she doesn't change."
"I won't, I assure you," Aurora replied, placing a comforting hand over Abigail's. "Rest now, Abigail. Don't let today weigh too heavily. I'll stay with you."
Abigail nodded, changing into her pajamas, the fabric soft against her skin, the quiet night promising small comforts.
---
The next morning, Aurora and her husband prepared to depart. Before leaving, Aurora turned to Abigail, eyes softened with understanding.
"You have three days," she said gently. "Spend them with your parents. Then return to your husband's house."
Abigail swallowed, nodding. Three days. Enough time to gather her strength, enough time to fan the quiet flame within her until it roared with intent. The ember of defiance, of hope, of cunning, burned brighter with each heartbeat, waiting, planning, preparing.
The quiet flame was awakening.