General Shepherd

General Shepherd didn't hide his disdain. She was a burden, a nuisance he tolerated only because he had to. When she dropped a tray of food one evening, spilling hot broth across the floor, his anger exploded.

"You can't do anything right, can you?" he snarled, grabbing her arm. His grip was like iron, and when he shoved her, she stumbled, her knees hitting the stone hard. Her wings twitched, folding tightly against her back as she lowered her head, trembling.

"Clean it up," he ordered, his tone sharp enough to cut. She obeyed without hesitation, her hands moving quickly to gather the broken pieces, though her fingers bled from the jagged edges. He watched her without a flicker of remorse, his expression colder than the stones beneath her.

…