Battered But Not Broken
A week later,
The moon cast a melancholic glow over the dark, ornate chamber as Lysandra, in her flowing dark red nightgown, which accentuated her voluptuous curves, turned away from the chilling night air of the balcony.
Her silver-lavender hair, almost ethereal under the blood moon's rare light, cascaded over her shoulders as she stepped back into the warmth of her room, her mind weighed with heavy burdens.
*Bang!*
Her solitude was abruptly shattered by the heavy, unsteady footsteps of Drakar, whose entrance was as graceless as his state. His jet black wings smashed the nearby vases and small tables as he stumbled into them while walking ahead.