Heena didn't answer. She simply stared up at the heavy silk canopy of her bed.
She had already forgotten the faces of her grandparents. She had forgotten the name of the Prime Minister she had spent months plotting to destroy. She had even forgotten the exact layout of the Vanguard estate she was currently residing in.
But there was one thing her deteriorating brain clung to with a vicious, unyielding stubbornness. The feeling of the scholar.
She couldn't picture Samuel's face anymore. She couldn't remember the exact shade of his dark eyes or the sound of his voice when he called her 'wife.' But her body remembered the phantom warmth of his hands messaging her aching legs. Her soul remembered the terrifying, suffocating weight of his absolute devotion. It was the only anchor she had left in the endless fog.
