Cynthia (aka Artemis)’s Profile

Iain sent Black a glare, aware that he appeared debauched. But he wasn't. He was restless, mindless. There was a sickness ruling his thoughts, and if he had the courage to look through the darkness inside him, he'd be able to name the illness. He was heartsick, his soul crying out for the one remedy that could cure his illness. Elizabeth.

"I only though to help," she said, hating the sadness in her voice. "What is left to me? I have no husband or children to occupy my time. I can't see to paint or embroider, or read, or decorate. I can't even shop without another set of eyes escorting me. I have nothing, Adrian. Nothing!"

"That's not true."

"Oh, do not lie to yourself, thinking you are making me feel better. Lies only make me feel worse, for I know they are spoken out of pity. The truth is, I have never complained about my blindness or bemoaned my fate. I always had the Brethren Guardians to make me feel worthwhile and capable. I had you and Black to talk to, and I was involved in discussions, in the history or our ancestors. I was a part of the group, and it kept me happy. Now you are denying me the one thing that made my life worth anything."

“Food,” he said flatly and placed a tray on the table.
“Thanks.” She walked toward it and noted how he stiffened and took a step back. Might as well get this out of the way. “I won’t be your mate.” She grabbed what looked like a yellow carrot and chomped on it.
Keyn lifted a brow. “Good.”
That’s it? This guy wouldn’t be getting laid and that’s all he had to say? “Fine.”
“Great,” he muttered and turned to walk out.
“So, you’ll take me home then?”
He halted at the door. “No.” With that, he left.
“You’re an asshole!” she yelled before he could walk too far.