Willow woke up with a massive headache that felt like someone had taken a hammer to her skull and decided to use it as an anvil.
Every heartbeat sent a fresh wave of pain through her temples, and the morning light streaming through her small window felt like daggers in her eyes.
She groaned, pulling her thin pillow over her face, wishing she could simply disappear into the mattress and never have to face the world again.
But hiding wasn't an option. She had duties, responsibilities, a job that she couldn't afford to lose no matter how much her heart felt like it had been shredded into pieces and set on fire.
With enormous effort, she dragged herself out of bed and stumbled to the small bathroom attached to her servant's quarters.
The cold stone floor against her bare feet helped ground her somewhat, though the pain in her chest, the emotional agony that had nothing to do with wine and everything to do with Dorian, remained constant.
