Eiravyne felt him lower his body again, and she shivered as his warm breaths caressed that spot on her shoulder where the tear in her nightdress was.
His touch lingered there, almost obsessively, as if erasing something she couldn't understand.
Then, he spoke, his voice filled with accusation and madness, "Here... did you also give him this spot?"
Confused and scared, Eiravyne struggled to comprehend his words.
"N-no," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ilkar's eyes narrowed with intensity.
"Did you give him my spot?" he demanded again, his tone insistent.
Eiravyne's mind raced. "My spot...?" she thought, bewildered by his possessiveness. But she answered quickly, fear driving her words,
"No... he didn't touch me there."
At that moment, Ilkar collapsed on top of her, his forehead pressing against that spot on her shoulder.
His breathing was ragged, his body tense with a mixture of rage and anguish.
