The metallic clang of the candelabra as it collided with the cold stone floor echoed.

Then a chilling silence followed the noise. Alena was still as her eyes stared at the once-steady candles that now lay scattered in disarray, their previously glowing flames snuffed out, leaving thin tendrils of smoke curling upwards.

Alena was certain that such a sudden and loud disruption would surely send a jolt of alarm or even fear through any mortal's heart.

But the duke simply opened his eyes, and those golden orbs even revealed the complete opposite of panic—a calmness that seemed otherworldly.

As he rose, his movements were fluid and graceful. He stepped towards the fallen candelabra, passing through Alena's spectral form. A strange sensation, like a ripple in water, cascaded over her as he moved through her.

His fingers curled around the fallen candelabra, lifting it with ease and setting it upright, its candles still bearing the wisps of smoke. 

The silence in the room deepened, punctuated only by the rustle of his night robe as he made his way back to the bed. He settled into it, his body sinking into the plush mattress and silken sheets, and then, just like that, his eyes once again closed in peaceful surrender to sleep.

Alena stared, her ghostly form radiating disbelief. The audacity of his nonchalance left her utterly flabbergasted!

Her eyes trained on the duke's sleeping form. "Could it be that... he's already used to this? That must be it, right?" she pondered. "I wonder how many other ghosts have haunted you that you're no longer this bothered."

But another thought emerged. "No, this could just be him being the fearless man that he is. He's not afraid to kill, so it's understandable that ghosts wouldn't even make him flinch."

She tightened her grip on the dagger and murmured, "Well then, I have no reason to idle anymore." 

She lifted the dagger high, its blade gleaming ominously under the faint light streaming through the window. Every part of her screamed vengeance, yet her heart—or whatever remained of it—wavered. An internal struggle played out within her. “Don’t hesitate. This man deserves this!” Her own conviction echoed back at her, urging her forward.

As she took a steady breath, the chamber seemed to hold its own. Even the muted sounds from outside—the distant rustle of leaves, the soft hoot of an owl—all faded, surrendering to this moment. Time itself seemed to warp, slowing to a haunting crawl.

Her dagger thrummed with intense energy, casting an eerie luminescence. Tendrils of something purplish intertwined with brilliant beams of light played along the blade in a mesmerizing dance.

With one final breath, she closed her eyes, and then, in a heartbeat, the world snapped back into motion. Alena lunged, every fiber of her being focused on one singular goal: to finally exact retribution on the man who had stolen her life.

A hand shot up with shocking speed, grasping her wrist with a grip so firm just before her dagger could pierce his flesh. Her eyes flew open in shock, and she looked down to see the tip of the dagger hovering just millimeters close to his heart.

The duke's eyes, previously calm and indifferent, now bore into hers, gleaming intensely with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher.

And then his voice, rich and deep, flowed through the tense silence: "You are hesitating way too much... my duchess."