Chapter 1468


    In the evening, Fitch had brewed the medicine, and Thssa, holding the steaming mug,


    approached Lysander''s bedside to feed him.


    She attempted to coax the liquid between Lysander''s lips with a spoon, but his mouth remained


    firmly closed, rejecting the nourishing brew.


    It seemed that Lysander stillcked the ability to swallow on his own.


    With a sigh, Thssa reverted to their established routine. She sipped the medicine, and then,


    leaning over Lysander, she gently pried open his lips to transfer the liquid into his mouth.


    Back when Lysander''s presencemanded every room, it was he who would initiate their kisses,


    assertively parting her lips and iming her breath with the fervor of a conqueror.


    He would lead her breathlessly into the depths of a passionate embrace.


    Now, the roles were reversed. It was she who would softly press her lips to his, nudging his mouth


    open to feed him, to aid him in swallowing.


    For three years, she had persisted in this daily act of intimacy, repaying each kiss he had once


    given her.


    Oh, how she longed for Lysander to take the initiative again, for him to awaken with that assertive


    spark she remembered.


    Three years of unteral effort had taught Thssa the toll of one-sided gestures—not just the


    physical toll, but the emotional drain as well.


    The one who initiates craves a response, a sign that their efforts are not in vain, that they are


    acknowledged and desired.Content ? N?velDrama.Org.


    But silence, theck of response, only magnifies despair, deepening the ache of hope unmet.


    Thssa yearned for Lysander''s response, for him to awaken, to exhibit any sign of conscious will.


    And she knew, when Lysander had kissed her in days past, he too must have sought a response. A


    response would have at least confirmed he wasn''t alone in his desires.


    Herck of reaction could only have signaled to him that she felt nothing for him, not deep down.


    In those days, she had been too reserved, too panicked to reciprocate his advances, and he must


    have felt the same disappointment that now gued her.


    With a bitter taste in her mouth, Thssa administered the medicine, carefully ensuring that each


    spoonful made its way past Lysander''s lips. When the mug was empty, she wiped away the traces


    from his mouth, then her own.


    Gazing at Lysander with profound tenderness, she murmured, "Lysander, for three years I''ve kissed


    you, bathed you, more times than you ever did for me. Surely, whatever penance you''ve sought has


    been served. When you wake, we''ll settle the score. You owe me a wealth of kisses, and a


    multitude of baths..."


    Her voice was soft, tinged with a sad smile, her eyes alight with fierce hope for the day Lysander


    would open his eyes.


    Dr. Funke had promised that Lysander would awaken within two months, and she clung to that


    promise with all her heart.


    She longed to be the first sight he beheld upon his return to consciousness.


    Continuing her soliloquy, Thssa gently caressed Lysander''s face.


    His features were sharp, his skin taut, exuding a masculine maism. Even after three years of


    slumber, his allure remained undiminished. The absence of sunlight had only made his skin paler,


    enhancing his handsome features.


    A smile crept across Thssa''s face as she traced his cheek with her thumb—a gesture she would


    never dare with Lysander awake, a gesture that filled her with warmth, as if caressing a child''s face.


    After a moment''s tenderness, Thssa wheeled the chair into the bathroom to help Lysander with


    his bath.


    The room filled with steam, misting her eyes and flushing her cheeks. With a towel in hand, she


    gently washed over every curve and contour of his body.


    In this intimate space, where the air was warm and thick, Thssa cared for Lysander with a


    devotion that transcended the years of silence between them.