In the forbidden room where children were never meant to enter, where even whispers seemed afraid to linger—Lord Henry's room—a nightmare was quietly unfolding.
Imogen clung to Raphael's pale, unresponsive body as if her thin arms could defy reality through sheer will. Her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps between sobs that sounded far too broken for someone her age. Tears streamed unchecked down her flushed cheeks, falling onto Raphael's cold skin where they refused to bring warmth.
"No… no… this can't be happening…" she whispered, her voice trembling like a paper about to tear. "Wake up… please… wake up…"
She shook him again. Desperate. Panicked. Again. And again. Small hands pressing against his shoulders, against his chest, trying to will his heart to beat faster, to rise stronger. Anything. Just… something.
"Hey… idiot… you're not dead, right? Say something… say something, please… anything…"
