Arthur listened to Imani's words, his heart heavy with the weight of her suffering. As she spoke, he could see the pain etched into every line of her face, the grief that clung to her like a second skin. It wasn't just physical scars she bore; the emotional wounds were deeper, more insidious. The kind that didn't heal easily, if they ever did.
When Imani looked over at the fallen forms of James and Ladon, the hatred in her eyes was palpable. These men—no, these devils, as she called them—had inflicted unspeakable horrors on her and the others. Arthur could understand her anger, her need to express it, even if it was through curses or growls.
"So-sorry. I didn't mean to curse in front of you. . .sir?" Imani's voice wavered, as if she feared retribution even for something as small as a slip of the tongue.
