She slowly unlaced the ribbons of her dress. Her movements were totally stiff. She did not sigh. She did not stretch her arms. She carefully folded the dress and placed it neatly on the wooden chair. Her face remained a blank mask.
Damon stood still behind the door. He focused his mind.
He closed his eyes for a brief second, intentionally reaching out to her mind. He wanted to hear her internal thoughts. He wanted to know what was hurting her so badly. He wanted to hear her complain, so he could understand how to fix it.
He listened carefully.
He waited for the familiar, sharp, sarcastic voice to echo inside his brain. He waited for her to complain about the dusty lower city, or the heavy fabrics, or the noisy streets.
But there was nothing, just silence.
Damon opened his eyes in shock. He couldn't even hear her thoughts because she wasn't even thinking.
