Arabella writhed on the ground, every nerve in her body screaming beneath the weight of Morpheus's curse, yet she refused to collapse.
Her fingers dug into the cold floor as she forced herself upright, trembling but unyielding. With shaking hands, she reached into her pocket and retrieved the herbs she had prepared earlier, stuffing them into her mouth without hesitation.
The bitter taste spread across her tongue as she chewed quickly, desperately. It was the only remedy she knew that dulled pain even slightly, but as the seconds passed, she realized the truth that the herbs were no match for the curse burning through her veins. The relief was faint, fleeting, almost mocking to tell her she could never run away from the nerve tearing pain.
Her face had turned ghostly pale, beads of sweat clinging to her temples, yet her gaze remained sharp. She lifted her eyes toward Circe and gave her a look, signaling her that she was ready.
