Chapter 8

“I was dead for one week?” She blurted with enough shock that it made Andrew roll his eyes. But he stopped when he noticed her emotions were not easily suppressed on her innocent face. “Oh my God! I died,” she began again. And he saw her shock, pain, and fear; it was apparent in the crease of her lovely brow and the down-curve of her full lips. But her eyes—her eyes showed her soul. They were a deep brown of restless autumn, an amber of unfortunate plight. 

A window! Andrew realised that as he stared into her eyes, he knew all the beauty of the universe could not even hope to compete with this unpretentious little mortal: Passion. Raw. Pure. Innocent. It was all there to see; it turned her eyes into orbs of luminous fire. And in them, he examined her completely, knowing that she would battle to the very last tear for her life. And yet she did. She was back from the dead. He made her! She followed her command not to succumb to the darkness. He made her come back. FOr him?