Sabastian POV:-
The night was a relentless torment. I lay in bed, tossing and turning like a fish out of water. The rhythmic ticking of the clock seemed to mock my inability to find peace. The thought of my mate, sleeping soundly just a door away, was a cruel irony. I yearned for the comfort of her presence, yet the distance between us felt insurmountable.As the hours passed, my restlessness grew. Each shift of my body seemed to intensify the discomfort. I tried to find a comfortable position, but none seemed to alleviate the churning in my stomach. The familiar ache of longing gnawed at me, a constant reminder of the emptiness I felt without my mate.The darkness of the room seemed to amplify my anxiety. I could hear the faintest creak of the floorboards, as if every sound were a harbinger of bad news. I tried to distract myself with thoughts of happier times, but my mind kept returning to the present moment, to the gnawing emptiness that consumed me.
About an hour had passed since I'd last checked the clock. The relentless tossing and turning had taken its toll, and my eyelids felt heavy. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, faint noises echoed from my art room. I groggily opened my eyes to check the time – 1 o'clock glowed ominously in the dark.
At first, I dismissed the disturbance as mere imagination, but the creaks and whispers persisted. Curiosity got the better of me, and I threw off the covers. My bare feet padded softly on the cold floor as I made my way to the art room.
The door creaked open, and I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the familiar space. Canvases lined the walls, half-finished paintings and sketches scattered across the worktable. Everything seemed in order, just as I'd left it earlier.
I shrugged, ready to chalk it up to a stray animal or the old house settling. But then, my gaze fell upon the painting I'd been working on that morning – Ophelia, lost in the swirling waters, surrounded by vibrant mustard flowers.
Something about the painting drew me closer. I frowned, noticing that the once-vibrant flowers now wilted, their petals drooping like mournful tears. A shiver ran down my spine.
Before I could process this strange change, dry twigs burst forth from the canvas, jerking violently as if alive. They seemed to reach out, grasping for me with bony fingers. Panic set in, and I recoiled, my heart racing.
But when I looked again, the painting had reverted to its original state – Ophelia serene, the flowers blooming brightly. I stood there, frozen, wondering if I'd imagined the entire ordeal.
The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with unspoken questions. What had just happened? Was my exhaustion playing tricks on my mind, or was something more sinister at play?
As I stood frozen in the art room, trying to make sense of the bizarre occurrence, a desperate cry pierced the night air: "Sebastian!!" Ophelia's voice, laced with distress, sent a jolt through my veins.
I sprinted towards her room, my heart racing with concern. The door swung open, and I rushed to her side. Ophelia lay on the edge of the bed, her body contorted in anguish. Her face twisted, her eyes screwed shut.
"Ophelia!!" I exclaimed, shaking her shoulder gently. "Wake up, my love!" But she didn't respond. Her eyelids fluttered, yet remained closed, trapped in a nightmare.
Panic set in as her restlessness intensified. Her chest heaved, and her breath came in short gasps. I recognized the signs of a panic attack, having witnessed them before. But never had I felt so helpless.
In desperation, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close to my chest. "Ophelia, my love, I'm here. You're safe." I whispered reassurances, trying to calm her racing heart.
As her tremors worsened, I knew I had to act. Without thinking, I pressed my lips to hers, hoping the gentle touch would soothe her frazzled nerves. The kiss was meant to calm, not seduce.
For a moment, time froze. Ophelia's struggles paused, and her body relaxed into mine. Her lips, soft and warm, yielded to my gentle pressure.
But as the kiss deepened, I realized the potential consequences. Would she forgive this intimate gesture, or would she recoil in anger? The thought flashed through my mind, yet I couldn't bring myself to care.
In that moment, her safety, her well-being, was all that mattered. I'd face her wrath later, if it meant easing her pain now.
As our lips parted, Ophelia's eyes fluttered open. Her gaze locked onto mine, confusion and vulnerability swirling within.
As Ophelia's gaze met mine, I hesitated, fearing her reaction. The memory of those goons' lecherous eyes lingered, and I worried she might think I harbored similar intentions.
My heart racing, I braced myself for her anger, her rejection. But instead, Ophelia's face transformed. Her eyes, once haunted, now shone with vulnerability.
Without a word, she took a step closer, her arms extending. I froze, unsure how to respond. Then, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug.
The warmth of her body, the gentle pressure of her arms, sent a wave of relief washing over me. It was as if she desperately wanted to believe I was here to protect her, to shield her from the darkness.
I stood frozen, taken aback by her sudden gesture. Then, my arms enveloped her, holding her close. The world around us melted away, leaving only the two of us.
In that moment, something shifted. Our bond deepened, built on mutual trust and vulnerability. I felt her heartbeat sync with mine, our breathing harmonizing.
As we held each other, I realized that Ophelia wasn't just seeking refuge; she was seeking connection. She needed someone to understand her, to see beyond the scars.
I tightened my hold, vowing to be that someone. To stand by her, to shield her, and to help her heal.