Draven leaned closer, his long, pale fingers sinking into my hair as he patted my head with a slow, agonizingly gentle rhythm. A soft, helpless whimper escaped my lips. My eyelids felt as heavy as iron, the alcohol mercilessly robbing me of my senses and leaving my body completely paralyzed against the stained mattress.
"Seraphina..." Draven murmured, his voice dipping into a cunning, velvety purr that brushed against my ear. "What was that nonsense you were rambling about earlier? About me being a fake?"
My mind was a chaotic blur, but the alcohol stripped away every last shred of my self-preservation. I nodded feebly, my head heavy against the pillow. "The whole plot... in this god-damned novel... it's completely fucked up," I slurred, repeating the wild ramblings I had spilled to Elara in the tavern. "It's so messy... none of it makes sense... I can't even comprehend it anymore..."
