𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋
"You should be DEAD," Edwina said, her voice raw with frustration. "Do you understand that? The only reason you're still breathing is because your Dark Arts happened to manifest as something cold. Something that freezes the rot from spreading instead of feeding it."
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "Selene would probably compare me to meat put in a freezer so it doesn't spoil."
The image came unbidden—her sitting across from me at breakfast, that sharp wit of hers cutting through my carefully maintained composure. The way she'd tilt her head, eyes sparking with mischief as she delivered the comparison with perfect deadpan timing.
Frozen meat. That's what you are, Mikhail. Preserved but not exactly fresh.
Warmth bloomed in my chest at the thought of her, spreading like thawing ice.
I stamped it down immediately.
