[Location: Wrath's Palace, Wrath Circle, Seventh Hell]
[Amon Baelgorath's POV]
I… I loved—infatuated—with her, yes. The realisation struck me like an earthquake ripping through the foundations of my being. Wrath had no place for attachments, for weakness, for sentiment. And yet, there it was, coiled deep inside my molten chest, a spark of desire buried beneath centuries of rage and dominion.
Flames around me faltered, stuttering, as if sensing the unfamiliar tremor. My claws itched to strike, to destroy, to punish, yet another part of me—an irrational, abhorrent part—burned with something else entirely. Protective. Obsessive. Devouring.
The Witch noticed, of course. Her pale eyes flickered with the faintest hint of satisfaction, though she didn't dare smile fully. Only fools or mortals dared mock Wrath openly, but she… she merely watched, steady, patient, calculating.
