••{SERAPHINE'S POV}••
I sit at the edge of Azræl's bed with one of his hands pressed to my chest between both of mine as tears roll down my face.
I can barely recognize my own son anymore.
His skin has grown so pale it's almost white now. The dark hollows beneath his eyes have sunk deeper into his face. His lips have lost all color, they're dry and cracked. Even his hair, once such a vibrant shade of red like fire and blood, has dulled into something lifeless.
And he has grown so thin.
So frighteningly thin that I can see the bones beneath his skin.
I hold his hand tighter and bow my head over it as I listen to the sound of his heart.
It's weaker than it was yesterday, and the day before that.
The pain of watching my son suffer while I sit helpless beside him, hurts more than the agony I endured in that prison beneath the earth. More than the starvation. More than the darkness. More than the centuries I spent wondering whether we would die before we ever saw the sky again.
