[Rynthall Estate—After the Puking Session]
Lucein lay sprawled across the living room couch like a defeated war hero, one arm draped limply over his face, the other clutching a pillow as if it were his last line of defense. His complexion was paler than moonlight, lips parted in a groan that sounded like death itself knocking.
Beside him, little Elysia sat dutifully, patting her mama's chest with her tiny hands as if her fragile touch could heal worlds. "Shhh… Mama, it's okay. I will protect you from evil, baby brother," she whispered solemnly.
Marcel was stationed at Lucien's head like a loyal knight, gently massaging his scalp. "Does this feel good, my lord? Shall I press harder? Softer? Tilt your head, perhaps?"
Lucein cracked one eye open, exhaling like a dying poet. "...Yes... Marcel. You may live another day. This… feels heavenly."
