Verona remained perfectly still in Elric's arms, her heart skipping a beat before transitioning into a rapid, thudding tempo. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope it was just a regular nightmare, a dream of monsters, of losing her to the Duke's schemes, or perhaps a battlefield tragedy. But the look in Elric's eyes was not the frantic panic of a man who had seen a ghost, it was the hollow, haunted stare of a man who had lived a different, much darker life.
"Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me everything you saw."
Elric let out a long breath, his forehead coming to rest against hers. "It was so vivid, Verona. We were at the altar in the Great Cathedral of the North. But there was no joy in the room. The air was like ice, and you... you were wearing white lace that looked like a shroud. You wouldn't look at me. When I took your hand, you were so cold I thought you were dying."
