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.

Later, when the firelight cast long shadows in his quarters, she returned. Her steps were hesitant, her body hunched as she knelt at his side. He glanced down at her, his eyes hard.

“Why do you keep coming back?” he hissed, his voice dripping with contempt. She didn’t answer—she couldn’t—but her golden eyes softened, and she leaned her head against his knee.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, shoving her away. She fell back slightly but stayed where she was, her silent presence a constant reminder of his cruelty. He didn’t care if she hurt.

idk what to write here