Anorah wiped the tears gathering in her eyes as she stared at the lone figure lying motionless before her.
His white hair had grown paler, and a thick sheen of sweat matted his ashen face. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she imagined seeing him, of all people, in such a state.
She released a quiet sigh, picked up a towel, and gently wiped the sweat from his face.
"It's been a month, Atticus. When will you wake up?"
It wasn't unusual for her question to go unanswered, yet it never dulled the painful sting in her chest.
She curled her fist, then leaned forward and gently rested her forehead against his.
'Please… wake up.'
A soft knock at the door drew her gaze.
"It's almost time, my lady."
Anorah clenched her teeth before straightening.
She turned toward the corner of the room, where the only other presence sat quietly, staring at Atticus with wide, sunken eyes.
'He still hasn't moved.'
