The orchestra was playing the last songs of the evening, those slow, soft pieces, made only to close the event with a lazy beauty. The ballroom no longer had its frenetic glow of before—a few ladies rested on the sofas, lords conversed in small circles, and the drinks table was almost empty.
Morgana and Damon, finally away from the dance floor, were seated on one of the dark wooden benches near one of the ballroom's columns. The golden light from the lamps above fell softly on them, painting broad shadows on the polished floor.
She was slightly bent over, breathing as if she had run a half marathon—or wrestled a wild animal.
He was... calm. Legs apart, hands resting on his knees, his expression relaxed as if everything had been part of a very well-calculated plan.
Silence for a few seconds.
Then, Morgana let out a heavy sigh—not angry this time, but... exhausted, yet light.
