(Soren's perspective)
If I had a heart, I am sure it would be pounding. But not with fear.
With rage.
Serena's voice fades into the buttery golden light of noon, her words and her form whisked away into some oblivion that I am neither aware, nor privy to, her hand outstretched as if disdaining to hold me in place, to remain with me for a little longer, yet I barely see it. Her fingers grasp empty air.
By the time the utterance of my name rings out like the shallow ripples of a pond around my gardens, she is already gone.
But for once in my life my mind is not on her.
