Chapter 1917

Persephone froze as she gazed at Morpheus. He bore numerous wounds, spanning from his neck down to the back of his feet. Positioned with his back to the bathroom door, he appeared to be tending to an injury on his back. Bruises, swelling, cuts… There were bruises and patches of dried blood, silently proclaiming to the world that he had endured a brutal and vicious battle. Yet, at the shopping mall, he had displayed nothing. It turned out he had been suppressing his pain. Persephone felt a jolt in her heart. Her hand, covering her mouth, slowly dropped. "Aren't you... sleeping?" he asked. "I woke up," she said softly. "Your wounds…" "It's nothing." Morpheus seemed calm, but his heart was in turmoil. Grabbing his clothes quietly, he accidentally aggravated the wounds on his back in his haste. He bit his lip, striving to endure it. "L-Let me tend to your wounds!" Persephone suddenly said. Morpheus was stunned—doubt flashed through his eyes. His reason urged him to keep his d