Seconds passed, and the white-haired man frowned; he could feel himself weakening, which was absurd—almost impossible for someone like him. Unnoticed by him, wisps of grey mist escaped his body as if drawn out by something and entered Elora's parted lips.
The serene expression on his face cracked as he tried to pull his finger away from her forehead—he sensed an unseen force holding him in place. 'Not good!' A warning blared in his mind, and he quickly teleported to the other side of her room, sweat coating his forehead from using the spell so forcefully.
He looked over at the bed to see Elora staring lazily back at him, her chin propped up with her hand. Her purple eyes showed a hint of dissatisfaction—she slowly licked her lips as if savoring something delightful before sitting up.