Azrael raised an inquisitive eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. Isolde hesitated, her gaze drifting downwards as she clenched her fists tightly. With a deep breath, she finally met his eyes once more.
'Why can't I just say it? I don't want him near me,' she thought to herself, battling inner turmoil.
"Stay..." Isolde's voice slipped out, surprising even herself. In a desperate attempt to retract her words, she hastily closed her mouth, inwardly berating her own impulsiveness. 'Why did I say "stay"? I meant "don't stay"!'
Azrael's bright smile dimmed, replaced by a flicker of concern as he sensed her hesitation. Leaning a bit closer, he gazed into Isolde's eyes with his intense crimson stare. She flinched under his penetrating gaze, unable to avoid his compelling eyes. Azrael's expression softened, just a fraction.
"Then it's settled. I will stay," he replied, offering her a reassuring nod.
***
A wistful smile danced on Azrael's lips as Isolde's voice, gentle as a whisper of wind, caressed his ears, calling out his name, "Azrael..." He turned to find her, standing amidst a field of lush, emerald-green grass, her arm extending in a beckoning gesture, an invitation to draw near. Azrael, a glow of warmth in his eyes, rose from his resting place amidst the verdant meadow.
Isolde beamed radiantly as he approached, her smile as luminous as the sun itself. Her voice, filled with a longing relief, enveloped him like a tender embrace. "Azrael, come over here. I want you by my side always."
His smile blossomed, reflecting her happiness, but it swiftly withered as reality crashed down around him.
Inwardly, he lamented, 'The real Isolde, the one I know, would never bid me to stay by her side, nor would she share such a smile with me.' A hint of sorrow flickered in his crimson eyes, despite his customary stoicism.
Despite this, Azrael bridged the remaining distance between them, his gaze fixed on her with unwavering intensity. His features remained as impassive as ever, yet a bittersweet melancholy lingered in his eyes.
As Azrael closed the gap, he encircled her in his arms, their bodies coming together in a tender embrace. For that fleeting moment, they were intertwined, and both clung to each other with aching longing.
'I wish this was real,' he silently mused, his heart echoing the sentiment.
***
"Azrael...?" The sound of his name reverberated like an insistent echo, relentlessly calling him from the depths of slumber. "Azrael?" The voice persisted, growing stronger in its urgency. "Azrael!" The voice reached a deafening peak within the recesses of his mind, catapulting him into sudden wakefulness.
Startled, Azrael shot upright, his eyes reluctantly opening to the dim surroundings. Blinking against the veil of sleep, he struggled to grasp the reality that unfolded before him. Gradually, as his bleary vision sharpened, he recognized the familiar figure standing just beyond the iron bars, clutching them with trembling hands.
"Azrael, are you alright?" The voice, laden with concern, sliced through the fog of his confusion. Azrael's widened eyes focused on the face before him, and he mumbled in bewilderment, "Drusilla?"
Before him stood a young woman, cloaked in darkness. Her most arresting feature was her flowing, radiant mane of platinum-blonde hair, which cascaded like a silken waterfall down her back. Each strand shimmered with an ethereal luminescence under the flickering torchlight, casting an otherworldly aura around her.
Her complexion was as pale as porcelain, a flawless canvas that set the stage for her eyes to command attention. They were a captivating shade of ruby red, reminiscent of the deepest, most alluring rubies. Within those crimson depths, one could discern ancient wisdom and a tantalizing hint of forbidden allure.
This was Drusilla LeVane, the Crown Princess of the vampire realm, Eclipsoria Kingdom, and a confidante of Azrael.
Azrael's perplexity hung in the air as he sought answers. "Drusilla, what are you doing here?" His voice held a trace of disbelief.
A deep furrow etched itself between Drusilla's delicate eyebrows, her countenance shifting abruptly into a somber visage. Her gaze upon Azrael held a poignant hint of sympathy as she delivered her words. "Azrael, why do you persist in provoking your father? He expressly forbade your ventures into the human realm. And if it's about my elder brother, Thorne, I implore you, do not pursue him further," she beseeched, her voice tinged with genuine worry.
Azrael's voice, a soft and subdued undertone, intruded into her plea, "Is that why you've come here? Has my father dispatched you?"
Without missing a beat, Drusilla clarified, " Azrael, I arrived here of my own volition, aided by Sylas," she responded calmly, ensuring to quell any suspicions. "And no, your father played no role in my presence."
In the heavy silence that followed, Azrael nodded solemnly, his memories unraveling back to the days when their paths had crossed more frequently. In the intervening years, contact between them had dwindled, overshadowed by her royal responsibilities and his relentless pursuit of Thorne.
Breaking the silence, Drusilla addressed Azrael's immediate needs.
"I've brought sustenance for you—food and water," she announced after a brief pause, her gaze reflecting concern. She extended a brown paper bag and a bottle of water toward him, proceeding to unlock the cell door.
Azrael's shoulders seemed to visibly relax, his once-tense frame easing as gratitude flowed in a soft whisper.
"Thank you..." His voice, laced with vulnerability, barely grazed the air between them. Drusilla lowered herself gracefully, taking a respectful, kneeling position before him. With delicate care, she set the provisioned items onto the ground, placing them within his reach.
Gently, her nimble fingers traced the contours of the brown paper bag, its contents veiled in a mystery of anticipation. Drusilla extracted a modest loaf of bread from the vessel, its aroma wafting upward like a siren's call to Azrael's senses. In response, his stomach betrayed him with a sonorous growl, an involuntary tribute to the tantalizing scent of sustenance.
The sound of his hunger elicited a light-hearted chuckle from Drusilla, a fleeting moment of levity amidst their somber surroundings.
"Here you go," she offered, her smile returning as she presented the bread to Azrael, her gaze warm and empathetic. With a tenderness that spoke of unspoken camaraderie, she inched the nourishment nearer to him.
However, a shadow briefly eclipsed her smile when Azrael, his tone hushed, posed a quiet query, "Are you sure I should have this?" The gravity of their situation hung heavily in the air, casting a momentary pall over their exchange.
Undeterred, Drusilla leaned in slightly, her expression a silent reassurance.
"Say ah," she prompted softly, delicately guiding the bread closer to his lips. Azrael, attuned to her wordless intent, acquiesced, parting his lips to accept the morsel.
He bit into the bread, a small chunk melting within the sanctuary of his mouth. Pleasure blossomed across his features as the warm, yielding texture yielded to his gentle pressure. A contented moan spilled from his throat, unbidden, as the delectable flavor inundated his senses. The taste, while carrying the slightest hint of staleness, transcended such mundane details to Azrael. It was an ambrosial delight, a fleeting respite from his dire circumstances.
With each bite, he savored the simple yet exquisite pleasure of sustenance, relishing the communion between flavor and memory. His tongue danced with each chew, savoring the interplay of sensations. When he swallowed the mouthful, gratitude welled up within him.
"Thank you, Drusilla," he voiced his appreciation with sincerity, his gaze lingering on her. In this isolated moment, their connection transcended the cold confines of his cell, and he found solace in her presence amidst the shadows.
Drusilla returned his gaze, a soft smile gracing her features as she acknowledged his gratitude.
"You're welcome, Azrael," her words held a comforting tenderness. Her voice, while soft, carried the weight of understanding.
"This is how I'll ensure you have sustenance every day," she continued, her tone marked with both determination and a tinge of melancholy.
"It's a substitute for blood in your case, considering your unique nature—a fusion of both human and vampire." Drusilla's eyes carried a distant longing, hidden behind her gentle exterior. 'If only I could give him my blood... But it would kill him,' she ruminated silently.
Once Azrael had finished his meager meal, Drusilla gracefully rose to her feet. Her movements were both fluid and poised, in stark contrast to the grim environment surrounding them. She began the solemn walk back toward the cell door, her steps punctuating the somber silence. Her eyes briefly met Azrael's once more before she turned away, whispering her parting words, "Good night, Azrael."
Azrael's gaze remained fixed on the door even after she'd locked it, his thoughts a tumultuous maelstrom in the wake of her departure. The inky expanse of the night sky beyond the bars served as a stark reminder of his solitary confinement. He couldn't sleep, not in this dimly lit and cold dungeon. His restless mind refused to grant him respite.
'I usually watch Isolde sleep... or train,' he reflected with a trace of longing. Azrael closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a heavy sigh as he attempted to quell the intrusive memories that surged forth.
"Now I can't even see her anymore," he muttered to himself, his voice a low, melancholic murmur. With a shake of his head, he sought to banish the memories, the stark reminder that he was teetering on the precipice of sanity in this forsaken cell.
'I'm going crazy,' he silently acknowledged, a sobering realization amid his harrowing captivity.