Daphne found herself in a peculiarly familiar situation. She was stuck in bed once again, meeting the wooden ceiling of a room right upon waking up. Her four limbs felt stiff and heavy and her throat felt as though she had just chugged down a bottle's worth of sand. When she parted her lips in an attempt to speak, the skin of her lips stretched uncomfortably, a telltale sign of just how dry it was.
The discomfort promptly caused Daphne to close her mouth again. Instead, she decided to look around the room.
Was she dead?
She couldn't remember much of what happened. There was fire― a lot of it. In her hazy memories, she thought she saw Atticus rushing in and cradling her in his arms as though she was the most precious treasure in this world.
It seemed like one thing was for sure, at least. Every time Daphne went overboard with her powers, she would pass right out.
