The room was in chaotic disarray, with the harsh sounds of shattered glass and clattering metal piercing the air like a discordant symphony of destruction. Shattered glass and ceramic fragments covered the floor like a deadly minefield, threatening to cut anyone who dared to step foot in the space. Overturned furniture and broken decorations told the tale of a fierce tempest that had ravaged the once-peaceful retreat.
The room, once an epitome of order and refinement, had descended into a scene of utter chaos. It was as if a tempest had swept through, leaving devastation in its wake.
Amidst this havoc, Lance perched at the edge of the bed, his demeanor mirroring the turmoil around him. His face bore an expression of deep-seated anger and frustration, and his eyes were aflame with an intensity that could incinerate even the bravest soul. Tension hung heavily in the air, exacerbated by the occasional guttural groans that emanated from his throat.
