Artemisia

When Fynn snuck into my room, I had already cried so much that I was feeling sick to my stomach.

He got into my bed, pulled me against him, and started to caress my back to comfort me.

When I calm down enough to tell him everything, I start sobbing again.

He doesn’t even have time to get angry before he has to comfort me again.

“He can’t do this. We all are equally possessive toward you,” he whispers as he lets his fingers slide up and down my side. “He doesn’t get ...