A heavy knock rattled the door, startling the silence of the bedroom. Anastasia didn't move. She remained sprawled on the thick fur rug in the center of the room, her cheek pressed against the soft fabric.
She felt hollow, drained of the energy required to even sit up.
The knock came again, more insistent.
"Come in," she croaked, assuming it was Corazon.
She expected Corazon with a tray of food and a sympathetic look. To ask if she would finally come down for dinner or if she wanted her meal catered to in any other parts of the house.
Instead, the footsteps that followed weren't Corazon's measured, soft pace. These were lighter, more confident. Anastasia didn't pay attention anyway.
It was Davide. He was standing close to the doorframe, a silver tray balanced expertly on one hand, a lopsided, mischievous grin on his face. He didn't say anything, he just watched her.
