Ezarel ³

Ezarel held the small vial between his fingers as the silence grew unbearably heavy. The dim light made the liquid inside the potion glow in an odd way.
His eyes were fixed on you as soon as he noticed you take a step back.
"Drink it."
The order came out curtly, automatically… but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. He approached slowly, observing every tiny hint of fear on your face. For a moment he looked away, clearly annoyed with himself.
"Believe me, I didn't want to do this."
His fingers encircled your wrist before you could pull away any further. The contact was firm, though there was a slight tremor impossible to hide.
Ezarel sighed in frustration, closing his eyes for a few seconds.
"I hate having to do it this way..."
When he looked at you again, his expression had already regained that cold composure so characteristic of him.
She slowly brought the bottle to your lips, pausing just a few centimeters away.