The air within the large house felt as thick as an oncoming storm. It was not the rumble of thunder or the sharp bursts of lightning that filled the walls, but a lessening, sharper feeling, like a fire getting ready to erupt. Isla perched at the large window in her room, idly drawing patterns on the glass with her finger. Outside, the sky was turning dark, clouds were low on the horizon and the garden was behaving wildly in the strong wind. But the storm she witnessed had nothing to do with weather.
She already knew he was present even before she heard him come in. She recognized the sound of his steps, strong and calculated, each one heavy. Dante never stepped into a room lightly. His presence was like gravity, heavy to the air until each intake of breath became calculated.
Why are you fighting me," he said, his own tone gentle but raw with deep emotion. "I give you everything, I protect you when the world would destroy you, and yet you fight against me.".
