DRYSTAN'S POV
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It's safe to say that the reality of her mother's death has sunk in at her funeral a week ago, and I've had the dying pleasure of sitting in the front row seat and watching the light drain out of her eyes and life. The perfect girl, the kind-hearted with a sharp tongue, the vixen with the glow of an angel. I've been monitoring her when she comes home from classes, and she just goes right to bed, and sleep. After the church, she wouldn't let me touch her. She's been shoving me away, but when I hold her, just hold her, she lets me at least do that.
It's like watching her die, without anything physically being wrong with her.
I lay in bed, pretending to be asleep, when she slipped out from under my arm. My eyes flick open, forming into slits, but I don't move as I watch
