After the meal, the mood around the table shifted into something far quieter. They sat silently for a few minutes, the clinking of forks and the ambient restaurant chatter filling the space around them.
But Ophis... was seething.
She sat stiffly, shoulders rigid, cheeks puffed with frustration. Her tiny fingers gripped the plastic syrup bear like she was deciding whether to strangle it.
She barely touched the fruit slices and didn't even bother with the juice box—because to her, this wasn't food.
This was an insult.
A public execution of her dignity.
Because she wasn't a child.
She was Ophis Dracula... Fuckers!!!
The only reason she hadn't flipped the table or set something on fire was because Raphael—calm, graceful, warm Raphael—sat across from her with a gentle smile and eyes that glowed like some Angel.
Ophis didn't want to ruin that smile. So she swallowed her pride... and unfortunately, the pancake too.
