There was a dazed veil over Kosmo’s dark eyes as he didn’t particularly look at anything, although his gaze was in the direction of his hands resting on his pulled up knees while he sat by one of the huge windows in Cosimo’s house, away from the village and the castles, in the middle of the woods. The bandages over his forearms and chest weren’t even needed anymore, and yet, Kosmo kept changing them daily. While his cuts have been healed, some left scars, and some bruises were still discolored, bringing back the memories of each and every one of them. Nothing on his face was swollen anymore, only a couple of deeper red bruises remained over his eyes and cheeks. Even during quiet moments like that, Kosmo winced every now and then, gasping shakily and looking around, paranoid of whether what he was going through was just some dream, magically inflicted upon him for his further torture. Ultimately though, he decided that whichever outcome his situation might have, he would simply enjoy each and every peaceful moment, whether it was fake or not. The presence of Cosimo in the room did not disturb him one bit. The angel brought such light and warmth with his aura, Kosmo believed it was the only thing still keeping him in this dream. If it was a dream. “I hate pineapples.” He said out loud after a while, glancing at the angel. “Don’t put pineapples on it.”