Fall from grace
The soft light of dawn crept through the heavy velvet curtains of Damien's bedchamber, casting long shadows across the opulent room. Ancient tapestries adorned the walls, their faded scenes of conquest a stark contrast to the man who lay motionless in the massive four-poster bed.
A gentle knock broke the silence, followed by the creak of the ornate door. Mimic entered, her body balanced carefully as she carried a silver tray laden with breakfast.
"Good morning, my lord," she said softly, her gravelly voice tinged with concern. "I've brought your breakfast."
Damien stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, confusion clouded his features, as if he couldn't quite remember where he was. Then reality crashed back, and his face hardened into a mask of bitter resignation.