Though Amani was no hero, she would never call herself that, for was she not more of the fallen angel? She was, and she was to act like it. She had always prided herself on her composure—a trait she had inherited from her father. But what she was now, no one would describe as composed, for she had blinked in shock and taken a step back—though there was nowhere to even step back—when he had raised his voice at her comment. Not out of fear, no, she wasn’t scared of Vincenzo, but out of shock. He was angry, on the verge of a breaking point and Amani steadied herself, she pursed her lips, and she could feel the thrum beneath her skin, an insistent beat echoing in her ears and pulsing in her throat. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, every exhale a struggle to maintain her exterior of calm indifference. It was as if a wild, untamed force had awakened within her, each surge of energy making her feel simultaneously powerful and fragile. Her chest tightened, the air around her suddenly thick and stifling, while a warmth spread through her limbs, demanding action, movement, an outlet for the tumult inside. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in as her vision narrowed, focusing solely on Vincenzo’s fiery eyes. Say nothing , she told herself, say nothing she repeated in her mind, keep up the act and tell him she was not acting but she couldn’t, because in that moment, she was terrified.
Ok trying to reply rn and I still cannot get over this paragraph
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