CHAPTER EIGHT

“Come over here and sit,” he says. I cannot say that his voice does not do something to me still.

I clear my throat. “I would rather stand here, thank you very much,” I say.

“I will not speak to you from across the room, Cathy,” he says.

Maybe it is because he says my name which is in itself a rare feat or the unusually milder tone with which his words come out of his mouth but I immediately lift my head and look in his direction properly. There is something about him today that is not as menacing as the monster who threw me in the dungeon violently. He is like the one I met in the dining hall before I asked him about Celia. He seems a little more relaxed and less prone to anger. Still, it was the same him who switched up on me suddenly and did all that he did; rescind on his promise to give me my freedom and threw me in a prison from the dark ages, so, I know to tread carefully around him. I walk slowly towards the seat on the opposite side of his desk with my eyes darting across the