Help Me with My Robe

On the coffee table lay Aurora’s blood-stained high heels, making Eamon recall her masked, slightly smiling face - so alluring and familiar. Yet, he racked his brain without success, unable to pinpoint where he had seen this scene before.

Lysander entered Heath’s room, watching Aurora as she wiped his face with a towel, checked his wound, and then sat in a chair beside the bed, staring blankly at Heath.

Lysander, with a sense of resignation, shook his head and called out, “Aurora.”

Aurora turned around, “Lysander, what is it?”

Lysander approached and adjusted the IV drip, remarking, “You shouldn’t know how to treat wounds, you know?”

Aurora nodded in agreement, “I know.”

“And racing, fighting, you shouldn’t know those either,” Lysander added.

“I know,” Aurora replied, somewhat irritably. She wasn’t as cautious as she once was as Olivia, revealing too many flaws.

“Your behavior does raise questions. Don’t blame Eamon. To us, Heath is like a brother. He just wants to ensure Heath’s safe