Alaric

"Dahlia, don't—"

I stop talking mid-sentence because Dahlia is on her knees. 

There is no scream. No fury or fire oozing from her veins. Just her body folding like her bones give out, like something inside her finally snaps from holding too much.

Her shoulders tremble. Her hands go limp in her lap. And then there's a broken sound leaving her lips. So quiet I barely believe it comes from the storm I've come to know. 

I'm in shock to the point I don’t ...