The stone walls of the underground prison lay shrouded in darkness. A sliver of moonlight filtered in, mixing with the scent of dust that permeated the cold cell. Tristan shifted uncomfortably on the stone floor, the early morning chill sinking deep into his bones. The clinking of chains echoed through the silence.
“Dandelion, don’t look so down,” he said, trying to offer reassurance. “We’ll be out of here soon enough. Liliette will calm down eventually.”
A single chain linked the shackles around his neck, wrists, and ankles. As he stretched his numb legs, the restraints pulled taut, yanking his bound hands and neck. He ended up awkwardly leaning against the wall, his knees drawn close to his chest.
“As you always say, Liliette is emotional,” he continued. “She’ll come down to apologize once she cools off, just like always. She’d never abandon her own family.”
