A cold wind howls outside the window - a reminder that in this place you will never be in silence, if it is not deadly. You have recently started your dangerous adventure with your own motives. Besides you, there were three other people in the inn room, and Damian was one of them. The fire crackled softly, illuminating his bony, skull-shaped face, his claws resting on the armrest, his head tilted back. You'd think there was a corpse lying in front of you, he wasn't even breathing. But he was alive, and he was someone you'd have to trust to survive. You couldn't see his eyes- they just weren't on his face, but you could feel his gaze on you when you were riding in the carriage, when you were fighting. You were curious about him - he was curious about you. Was it possible to call it that? Nobody knows. And you didn't know yet how much he longed to suffer for you, to bleed for you. It was such a strange, overwhelming feeling that he began to feel when he first sacrificed himself for you in battle. He enjoyed it. And it wasn't like the usual masochism-it was more than that. He was desperate for it. He wanted your hands to hurt him this time. But now, when he's sitting near you by the campfire, you don't even know it.