2020-02-13 - Hijacked Valentines (1938)

Rather than take Lilith out to an expensive restaurant for Valentine's Day, Byron secretly planned for a lovely candlelight dinner at his apartment. It was something nice and intimate, just the two of them eating before such a spectacular view. And it truly was a wonderful view. While the French Doors remained shut to keep the chill from creeping into the apartment, a small circular table is set up at one of the wall-sized windows next to it. The lighting out on the terrace shines brilliantly and as the sky is mostly clear-- despite for the heavy fog rolling across town, there's no rain or snow in sight.

The table is decorated all fancy with a pristine white tablecloth, while usually he leaves it uncovered, and a beautiful floral centerpiece made up of Lilies, roses and baby's breath. The room, itself, is darkened, lit up only by candlelight throughout, including the pair of tall red candles adorning the bouquet of flowers. For appetizers, there are Roast Pork with Dried Fruit and Fresh Herbs and spinach and goat stuffed chicken breast with roasted asparagus, while the main course was a lovely creamy Parmesan linguine with shrimp. He actually hired a personal chef to assist in creating these lovely dishes, but since he had a hand in the kitchen as well, he could boast about it. Two filled glasses of wine compliment the meal.

Through the hidden speakers within the space, a soft romantic melody plays out . All of this was set up when he went to fetch Lilith, before lying to her, saying that he needed to run up and get something which he'd forgotten, having her come along with him. So when the door swings open, the lovely aroma of lavishly prepared food fills the air, to go perfectly with this cozily intimate set-up he'd prepared.

The rouse was that they were heading out to a fancy restaurant, so they are both dressed up for just that. Byron is wearing a gray tux with crimson accents. With everything he prepared for her now in full view, he smiles down at her as he leads her inside, "Happy Valentine's Day, Lilith."

It's Valentine's Day and Lilith isn't really sure which restaurant Byron was planning for given their limitations of a small town. She suspected they were about to take a drive out of town, at least a little way, or maybe even a good distance with a surprise trip. The man has gone all out on the holiday finesse and surprise thus far, why wouldn't he do it on a day specifically made for lovers? What she wasn't expecting, though, was to walk into his penthouse and find everything he's so meticulously planned with full romantic ambiance of lighting and sound.

Tonight, Lilith is wearing a red cocktail dress that hems at mid-thigh, fitted tight at the hips and waist with a collected drop at the decollatage in dip of fabric between the breasts. It's that balance between elegant and downright scandalous she tends to walk a silver lining with, done up with the full set of Piaget diamond jewelry she got from him for Christmas. Her hair is coiled and twisted in a few different places in an elaborate up-do that tumbles out the glossy length of curls to be trapped still and picturesque with more pins, and her cosmetics have a scheme of smoked eyes to go with the red lips for dress accenting.

And those smoke-accented blue eyes are particularly standout, even in the low lighting when they widen at what they see has been arranged. Lilith stops once inside, surveys the table, the candles, the whole of the setup with that delicious aroma of the food preparation. She doesn't actually seem to have words, but she tries something that turns into a mere throat noise after her jaw falls slack. She turns to stare at Byron after she's made a good long and slow wander toward the candles and table during that survey of shocked realization, then suddenly, she can't help but bubble over with girlish exclaim, hands going to hips, "Byron David Thorne! Did you do all this yourself? You scamp. I had ideas of what you were going to pull on me, but none of them were this."

Then before he can come pull her chair, she suddenly steps to come put arms up around his neck and shoulders to try and draw down for a kiss, glowing with affectionate bliss and the high of the surprise as a whole.

If anyone was feeling proud this evening, it was Byron David Thorne! Yes, he did all of this, or he had it planned out even if he got a little help. Okay, a lot of help. Either way, with a hand pressed to the small of her back, he gives her a tour of his apartment which she's already very familiar with. There's some nice touches, candles aside, with lovely floral arrangements spread throughout, giving it an almost restaurant atmosphere. "Did I tell you already?" He did, when he went to pick her up, "You look /amazing/."

Viewing his ghostly reflection through the large windows overlooking the terrace, he stares out into the darkness and fog to view just the tiny hints of twinkling of stars to be found in the night sky. "Surprised? And... I did most of this myself. Planned out the menu and the decor, but otherwise." He can't lie too much, thus he wears this big grin on his face,"I had some help." As they both stand near the romantically presented table, while it looks as if he may pull out a chair for her, it seems that he had the same idea that Lilith did. Just as she turned to drag him into a kiss, he was about to spin her around and wrap his arms around her waist to do the same.

This brings out a hearty laugh once their kiss is finally broken and without withdrawing from her at all, he murmurs, "Great minds think alike." Before he lens forward to press another kiss at her forehead.

Lilith breathes out a happy sigh and starts to gush to Byron before stopping and blinking a few times at where they actually are and what they look like in the mirrors set behind the bar, "I swear, you are the absolute best at--" Her fine brows furrow some and she pauses talking entirely during that survey to look at the man with confusion. She eyes a cursive 'L' on one of the drink napkins in gold leaf patterning, then really looks around again with malcontent suddenly replacing what was so much glow of delight just a matter of moments before, "... oh no."

There's a man in a suit with a newspaper flipped up, reading it while he smokes a pipe and blows the haze into the air, about a table or two over and the print and captions and pictures on it indicate it's certainly not a paper from their time. Lilith pays mind to the clothing and estimates solidly, "... late thirties. Are we in that fancy murder hotel that doesn't exist anymore? How..."

The woman doesn't finish the question. It's Gray Harbor, that's enough. Or at least, that's where they were. Not now.

The last thing he remembered, Byron had Lilith held tightly within his arms in a warm, loving embrace in the comfort of his romantically decorated apartment. But when they finally pull away, the scene has shifted. They were no longer alone. It was terribly disorienting to appear in what looked like a bar, perhaps? A 1930's era bar if he had to base things on the music and some of the style that owners were going for.

"God damnit." He practically fumes, knowing exactly what this was. It was a God Damned Dream that was interrupting a special dinner that he worked on, took a whole month to fully prepare for. In his annoyance, he's about to snatch the newspaper out of some guy's hand, but he can already see the date on it. Not that it mattered. He didn't care when this was, he cared where they were. "Is it that hotel?" It probably is, the name's printed on some of the napkins after all.

He takes the time to give the place a thorough scan, looking for any signs of what they have to do here. Reaching for her hand, he murmurs, "Let's go and find an exit."

The happy moment is gone. While crossing into the hotel lobby, Byron suddenly finds himself a bit peeved by Lilith's state of dress. It's immodest, honestly, showing so much arm and shoulders like she's a piece of Hollywood itself. And other men are staring, she's not wearing the slip shawl that should go along with it to help cover that dip of neckline.

Lilith makes a sudden 'mrrrm' of catch on noise as her hand curls around Byron's fingers with automatic response, turning to move and walk with him as her other hand pulls up part of the sweeping dress skirt so it doesn't catch on chair legs or under feet. She looks irritated as hell about all of this, in fact, moreso with every single step she takes in those very authentic vintage heels that are more pretty than comfortable, honestly. "Byron..." After wetting her lips, she squints ahead and then flat out raises arm to point, "Is that Isabella and Alexander? It is, isn't it? If we're in a murder hotel, we should definitely find them and the way out. Maybe those two things go together, finding them and a door?"

Her arm drops to reclaim her skirt, practically sashaying while walking. In truth, she's walking with a switch of her hips to compensate for the discomfort of these pinching heels, but Byron doesn't know that. It draws attention from the three men in passing.

Perhaps Byron does catch sight of Alexander and Isabella from out of the corner of his eyes, something which makes him pick up pace before a trio of suits halt their progress as they pass right on by. "Great." He stops to complain. "We may have lost them." Pushing forward, he lifts his chin to try and see if he can find any sign of the pair now that they are within the lobby. Unfortunately, it's not an empty lobby, so if Izzy and Alexander just passed this way, they weren't so easy to find.

"Do you see--" He begins to ask, turning back to Lilith. It's as if he's only now taken notice of what she's wearing. Not only that, it looks like she's gathering the attention of every man in this place. "Do I need to lend you my jacket?" He's already irritated, but this paranoia was making him even more so. In fact, he shrugs himself out of his tux to drape over Lilith's shoulders. "C'mon, they have to be here somewhere."

Lilith can't help but think that Byron sounds like Grant Turner right now. There's an oppression at work at her, whispers in her mind that compare the two men. It changes what she hears out of Byron, instead she hears a twisted and embellished part of what was actually said.

"Do I not give you enough attention? Cover up. People will think you're here as my whore."

Lilith looks at Byron like he's lost his damned mind after hearing what she hears out of him, despite what he actually said. The woman literally stops walking to stare at him and breathes out an incredulous-sounding noise as she's draped with the coat. She doesn't seem to know what to say herself there for a moment, but she does start walking again while creeping with a gradual flush of ire she has to work to tamp back down.

Then she up and picks a fight by opening her mouth and flinging off his hand to point the direction she saw the couple go, "If you're done telling me I look like a whore, I just saw them go that way." Then she starts that way with a huff after eyeing the man somewhat suspiciously and pissily.

"/I/ didn't say that you looked like a whore." Byron is quick to retort, breathing in heavily and looking non-plussed. In fact, he's shaking his head when he says this. "Is it that time of month?" He asks rather sarcastically, Still, his mind is set on getting out of here, so if Isabella and Alexander, supposedly, are being led in some random direction, he...

It's at that moment that a young tearful woman bumps into him, needing to brace himself to ensure that both he and the young woman remain upright. Staring up at him with her wet eyes, she quietly apologizes before disappearing into the crowd.

In that moment when the woman runs into Byron and braces herself with a wet-eyed look upward, Lilith happens to look backwards while crossing into the parlor ahead of him. And what she happens to see is different than what he's perceiving as happening...

Byron looks down and sees the face of a certain Marchand woman clinging onto him and looking at him with pitiful wet eyes before she's off and away, which further incites the ire inside him, being screwed with like that right now. Especially when Lilith is picking a fine time to be a hyper-sensitive bitch. She's generally not stupid enough to go picking fights instead of focusing on their ACTUAL FUCKING PROBLEM. Is this even her?

Lilith sees a woman dressed like a bonified whore placing a kiss on Byron's cheek and purring her hands at his chest in thanks after the convenient 'bump' into him. She sees him only too glad to help and grinning like a champ, ego bolstered and even turning his head to watch the other woman walk off before he thinks of catching up with her.

Olivia?

The teary-eyed woman flees too quickly before Byron gets a chance to lash out and grab at her wrist, though his eyes follow behind her. He needed to know if it was really her.

Or did he?

What did Byron care about Olivia Marchand? He slept with her a few times before she made the error of inviting her over to her place-- The Old Thorne House. From there, he practically ghosted her, despite living in the same small town. This was just the Dark Men playing tricks on him, less they had Marchand in their employ... which after what he knows about her and the House, he can't say that such ideas are wrong.

Slowly, his gaze turns to Lilith. What the fuck was her problem? Was it /his/ fault that she was attracting the attention of every Tom, Dick and Harry in this place? And he gave her his jacket, she should be grateful. Unless she liked the unwanted attention.

If there's anything that Byron regretted, it's that he didn't get a drink when they were still in the bar. Some of these people had drinks on them, but he has to remind himself: Don't eat or drink anything in the Dream of the Veil. It's a difficult rule, but he is filled with temptation. "Where are they?" He finally speaks up, "Maybe we didn't see them. There were a lot of people in that room, we could've been mistaken." He's trying to talk even as some man is yelling at a woman to act like a lady and though he's in mid-complaint, he only mildly pretends that he's not paying attention to them. Really, it's none of his business. Though he does have to take a look up the stairs, wondering if that's the way to go. "Let's keep moving."

Lilith is getting suspicious. Byron can be pissy too, sure, and in a Dream situation that feeds him angst, maybe he would be pissy with her. But he certainly wouldn't go implying she looks like a whore or pop off a look at some woman's ass right in front of her with such open lust. She keeps him well satisfied, damnit, and it's... just not his way in general to even pay much mind to another woman fawning over him beyond the ego boost it gives. At least... not in front of her. So is this even really Byron?

Maybe SHE is the one in a dream right now and he's not here. She's the one that flashed with terrible power recently in a loss of control, after all.

But Lilith can't help her anger and jealousy even though she knows this isn't reality, the twisted perception of the woman putting her lips on what's HERS (?) enrages her significantly and she goes red while he watches her depart. She doesn't say anything immediately, though, she grinds her teeth and starts to walk again, pausing to let the roughly dismissed woman cross her path to the adjacent hall and stairs at the distant end. Then, huffing as he suggests they keep moving, she wonders, "So was that someone the Dream threw at you that you have fucked, or just something you'd rather fuck?"

Normally, Lilith is incredibly secure in knowing where his heart and eyes actually lie, despite obsessive blips of wanting to choke a bitch for existing too closely to him on principle. It's so unlike her to pop off like that, in fairness, but she's so mad and she's not even sure this is Byron, so it just comes out.

Sometimes, but not often, Byron likes a good smoke whether it be cigarettes, from a pipe or even a cigar. Here, the air in his lungs feel polluted and for a time he tries to wave the thick cloud of smoke away before rubbing a crooked finger right across his nose, right below his nostrils. When Lilith brings up Marchand, Byron can't remember if he'd mentioned her before, but the accusation flung his way is enough to make him snap out, "Why..." He starts, before just shaking his head, "Nevermind, you know what? Think what you like."

However, on passing by some window, Byron takes pause. It was Alexander and Isabella that they saw. Immediately, he lifts a fist to bang against the glass, "Isabella!" He then cries, before he quiets down quickly. That wasn't Alexander with her. It looked like him, but in a warped, stretched and gangly way. He then pounds on the window harder, "Isabella! Stay away from him!" Thoughts are on the scene unfolding within the reflection, for the moment, sensing the direness of that situation.

It's awful what Lilith actually hears Byron say, despite him not saying much at all.

"Why... did I think it was a good idea to choose you?"

It's there that Byron shakes his head at her with dismissal while she's hearing him all wrong. Then his attention is at the window and it's not Isabella she hears him calling for, no.

It's Vivian. He's turning, hitting the glass, suddenly calling her name with helpless frustration according to Lilith's twisted view.

Lilith stares after Byron turning away from her with those words and the shake of his head, going absolutely stock still where she's by a small and decorative hanging mirror. She pales and her shoulders tighten with tension under his draped coat. While he's at the windows, trying to get Isabella's attention and warn her, it's not what Lilith sees or hears. She's been suspicious that it isn't him with her, that this Byron isn't her Byron, but does that make what she hears in his voice, from his mouth any less winding?

It doesn't. It feeds every paranoia about her not being good enough, not accomplished, not successful, not of the proper ilk and bearing for what he wants out of life.

She feels like she should attack him, that she should nip this in the bud before he actually tries to hurt her physically, but she doesn't have the heart to do even that, it hits her so hard. More than anything, in that moment, she feels alone in the Dream. It feels like being lost. She doesn't have the rage to take away her fear right now. The woman doesn't say a word until she's reached up to knock his coat off of herself, onto the floor to slip toward the hallway while he's distracted, and when she does speak, it's under her breath in alarm on the way, "... Alexander?"

Because she's not only trying to ghost Byron there at the window with her quick egress down the hall of doors. The mirror showed her Alexander with a Not-Isabella, she noticed they were possibly outside near some back buildings. The woman's fascimile appeared to be leading him into a trap with the shadow image of herself. It clicks inside her that they're all probably here with a dangerous false version of their lovers, which makes her afraid the real Byron is trapped with a version of herself that might kill him.

When Byron turns, he sees his coat on the floor and Lilith gone. Granted, there's only the one way to go from here, unless she backtracked, but he can see into the open, vaulted and spacious lobby and he can't see her there. And all he has to do is look around the bend to see her figure swiftly walking.

Pounding against the glass again, Byron can only see the Alexander-like being standing before him, face-to-face. He wonders if the other can see him in the say way that Byron can see Alexander now. The pounding stops and he remains still and quiet, just trying to determine if he'd been seen. Unfortunately, Isabella was approaching rather than running away, but it's at that moment that the image seems to fade, breaking his view of what was happening in that other room. "Which hallway do you think that..?" He starts to ask, turning to find that Lilith was gone. Not only that, but she'd discarded the jacket he'd given her, leaving it on the floor rather than hanging it up politely.

"I swear.." Byron was not having any of this today. Stepping forward, he snatches up the jacket, holding it clutched angrily in hand before moving forward to pursue the insolent-- He's not exactly sure what Lilith is thinking right now. This wasn't a place to fool around in and wander off. They were in a Dream. "Lilith." His voice comes out firmly and loud as he gives chase, before he calls out for her again, this time the anger more clear, "Lilith!"

"I don't know what you think you're doing," He starts in that same irritated tone. But she had mentioned Alexander's name and he is quick to remind, "That's not Alexander!"

Lilith may not look like she's reacting to the sound and anger and firmness in Byron's voice when she notices he's already after her without much stall or delay. But she is. Oh, she is. She's walking faster and trying not to break into a flat out run, oddly afraid that he has the same principle about going in for the kill as a lion does-- if it runs, take it down. She can't see into any of the rooms because the doors are closed, and she tries absolutely none of the knobs. The staircase is ahead a distance, the hallway is long, Byron's legs are longer than hers, he can outrun her, he's stronger than her, and...

Yes. Yes, she could try and break this Byron that isn't her Byron, but...

If she can avoid it for now, she's desperately trying to, hoping to run into one of the others or the real Byron himself. The dreams about ripping into him started at fourteen and they never really stopped, even as an adult. As an adult, the nightmares that constantly plagued her during teen years, they just bide time and wait to catch her unsuspecting. She realizes, though, it's been a long while since it happened, maybe it's due, maybe she has to do it to 'wake' from this confusing, dangerous reality. Her head pounds, her breath is fast, she doesn't know doors are opening behind her because she refuses to look back.

But she does speak, and she whispers desperately, to him, but not... at him, "Please don't make me do it. Please don't make me do it again."

But that's not what Byron hears when he thinks her silence breaks into whispers.

Instead, he hears her whispers coming out of every open door to meld together in the hallway.

Byron hears her whispers over and over and over.

"I'm yours."

But she's not saying it to him.

"... he'll never, ever know."

If there's any worse memory than his life with his parents, it would be the anger, humiliation and betrayal Byron felt when Lilith disappeared from his life. The intensity of those emotions come rushing back to him now, fueling his anger. She was acting like a child and come to think of it, she always dressed in such a way to draw attention to her body. Maybe she really was a whore. She was in a profession where her being one, wouldn't be all that surprising.

With these dark thoughts going through his mind, he moves swiftly down the corridor on his hunt for Lilith. Who did she think she was. She was just going to get herself killed out there. On seeing her pick up speed, he also takes quicker steps in his ire-filled attempt to reach her and lash out a grabbing hand at her wrist. Then when several of the doors swing open, he only slows down for a brief moment, his head turning in the direction of one of these newly opened doors and then another as he moves forward.

"I'm not kidding, Lilith." The firmness of his tone returns, thrusting himself into a quick run, "LILITH." His voice practically echoes down the hallway. On a normal day, he might try to keep his cool but these muddling, twisted thoughts burn much of his patience away. The whispered voices drifting from the rooms almost makes him stop cold to enter one of them, hearing the lure of those taunting voices. Instead, however, his mind is set and despite the distractions, he returns to quick, fervent steps like a man on a mission.

It's hard to be running away from Byron, instead of toward him, but Lilith does just that as he repeats her name loudly behind her brisk walk. She's so tempted to look back, to stop, but she also hears the unnatural snarl in his voice. It sounds like darkness and she's scared to look back at him, to know what she might see after hearing his mask start to drop. Instead, she bolts with panic forward in surge along that hallway of doors, probably just out of grab range given the head start she had. If she hadn't had it, she probably wouldn't have much chance.

The paranoid part of her wonders if maybe she's hearing the things he just won't say, the things he thinks in the dark, that the shadows can use truth to hurt her just as much as a lie. And that grows and she hurts while running, betrayal starting to take over and mingle with the fear and uncertainty and confusion of it all. And when Lilith hurts, all that power inside her starts to itch to come out.

But if there's a chance she can find someone else to help... keep running. The stairs are right ahead. Opposite of that is a turn into the corridor that leads to more rooms, and Lilith remembers Byron talking about a hallway. But he's so close and she may be hurting and wanting to hurt, but... it hurts her so badly to do what the nightmares force her to do to him too. She can't ever do it until she's forced to do it. It's only a matter of time, isn't it? That's how these things go.

Abruptly, she swings the hard corner toward another hallway of doors, away from the stairs.

And she wants Byron, her Byron so badly, she screams for him helplessly and blindly, despite the fact that he's chasing her.

"Byron...!"

Byron hears that clearly, at least, Lilith screaming for him in desperation. But the problem is...

He can't tell where it came from because it comes from everywhere at once, not the woman in front of him.

Is it her? It's not this her. Maybe she's somewhere else. Maybe she's right here. But either way, if it is her...

There's some nasty seeds planted that war with the urge to find and protect and the urge to punish and ruin.

While some of the doorways are enshrouded by darkness, it's the rooms in which he encounters a memory of sorts that truly disturbs him. It takes him a moment to realize just what he's looking at in the first vision, until he lays eyes on de la Vega, remembering that she'd mentioned something of this before. And even at that moment, Byron was uneasy and agitated even though his concern for Lilith trumped whatever else he may have felt at the time.

The next also brings about confusion, when did this scene happen? And who was she talking to? This is the doorway in which he lingers the longest because it has no link to anything that he knows of. It wasn't the Dream with de la Vega and it wasn't... the scene that comes up in the third door. Lilith was also alone in this one, making it all the more tempting to reach out to her then and there, but these were memories or something of that nature, right? Thus, he moves on.

The doorway in which the scene between Lilith and Turner plays out brings him to a halt, but rather than have an urge to barge in (Of course, he has that urge), in this moment, he preferred to watch from the sidelines, unnoticed) He lingers, one hand balled into a fist hangs out his side, while the other is tucked away into pants pocket. There's this dangerous glint in his eyes, the fist even lights up in a spark of electricity. He would kill them both if he could, because she was just a dumb bitch.

But that wasn't the Lilith he wanted. This was all in the past and the Lilith he sought out was the one in the present. The one who just ditched him in this crazy freakin' house. There's anger building up quickly within him, yet he can't help but smile because he felt so stupid right now. Is his mind wasn't filled with poison, he may be thinking with a level head, at least make plans on what to do next. Play things smart so that when he did ruin her, it would be so sweet and unexpected. Instead, there's this strong desire to punish her immediately. So after drawing in a deep breath, he continues on his way. He's in predatory mode, keeping stealthy and silent as he tracks her by sound and sight.

Where are you going, little bird? A pause. You dumb cunt.

He felt betrayed, whether it's a rational feeling or not. She had made a fool of him this whole time. The first time that she humiliated him, he wanted to get his revenge on her. But he was weak and so easily fooled. That won't happen again. The fist at his side continues to crackle with an electric fury.

Lilith hears Byron call back to her from where she's going, not where she's been, response to that desperate cry for him,

"... Lil? Lil! Come to my voice... run, babe. Run!"

His voice sounds thick, like it's coming from under water. She hears the Byron behind her too, though, the one in pursuit. Those words, that tone, it stings like a thousand knives, real or not real, does it matter? It was only a matter of time before he remembered to resent her. Her stomach starts to sink and pit with dread that's so deeply rooted, her blood runs frigid and she starts to forget to breathe. She has to do it. Again. Again. But maybe, maybe if she just looks at the one behind her again, it won't be him, it will be something else terrible, a monster, a construct, a demon, anything...

Anything but the face of the man she loves.

Unfortunately, when she pauses to steal a look half way down the hall as distance is made up and she realizes it's a dead end, what she wants to see, it's just not so. She just sees Byron and her heart starts to crack. The rage starts to fill her, the rage of being toyed with, the hurt accelerating all of the power inside her that's a tumult of anticipation. Why is this time different, though? Something feels off that she can't quite pinpoint while harried, something about this Dream in comparison to all the other vivid nightmares and times she's killed him over and over again.

Turning briskly to run a few more steps with the idea to try doors, she finally sees the mirror at the end of the hall and in that reflection, the man is a rival beauty to the version behind. It's a dark and unnatural beauty, though, his skin luminous in contrast to the shadows cast around him. His dark eyes spark wild and he's smiling like a mad man about to savor the moment. She hears knocking behind it too that draws her attention immediately, because she hears that underwater call for her again, and this time it's Isabella calling her name, trying to find her.

She knows what she has to do. Spinning at the end of the hall while standing in front of the mirror, Lilith finally stops and turns to look at Byron with her expression conflicted. But despite the expression, on her made up fair features, her posture changes, it's determined and ready. Then she gives one last bid for everything to change. It feels hopeless, though. She knows the answer even as she makes the plea.

"Please don't make me do this again. Please."

The mirror behind her starts to crack and fracture in slow motion while she's standing there in distress.

Byron might not even realize this, but this felt like the situation with the cursed ring all over again. Her distrust of him (though she had ever right to) felt like a betrayal to him back then, but this was far more personal and insulting to him. He gave her this second chance to make up for everything she'd put him through so many years ago. And here she was, leaving him behind, while each and every one of her lies, indiscretions and treacheries were being presented to him. Lilith knew that she drove Byron absolutely crazy and she was using that against him now. No, she always used that knowledge against him.

There was no way that he could let Lilith get away this time. Not after everything she'd done. Stalking his prey, he breaks into a run to cover some of the distance given her by the head start. If there are any other doors or images to be seen, he ignores them all. "Where do you think you're going?" He calls out, his own voice taunting. "You never thought I'd find out what your game was? It's not for money," Turner had money. "Did you make a bet that you could fuck with me again? Is that why you came back?"

At that moment, he's right about to pounce, setting his sights to move in close to shock the fuck out of her. However, the face in the mirror is what catches him off guard and for a time, he feels as if he's in a trance. Just like at the Hanging Bridge, for that instance, he feels torn on what to do. Shoot he shoot her or let her go? His emotions are all twisted inside, no matter how much he despise her at this moment. Then, those taunting words are tossed back into his face.

He truly was a hopeful idiot, but did he really think his time with Lilith was going to last? She'd done this to him before and he took her back. There was no turning back now. In his silent rage, his body trembles as every muscle tenses. No one was going to hurt him anymore. He wasn't going to let them. Not his father. Not Lilith. Again. His menacing frame blocks the hallway and at first, he moves along slowly in her direction, before he snaps forward, launching himself towards her with one bright electrified hand.

In a lot of dire situations, Lilith is so ready to fight or die trying. She stands on her feet and she goes tooth and nail and fury. But if Byron were feeling himself right now, he'd know she's lived this nightmare over and over again. It never acclimates, she's never gone numb to it, it was the thing that tore them apart and terrorizes her in sleep and waking life even now, the fear of ripping into him. She already has tears streaming her face with chin lifted and waiting as he speaks to her, tense and resigned, furious and heartbroken about her fate to keep living this horror over and over. She lets his words wound her, she deserves it, everything ends the same way every time this happens in some variation.

Except. What happens isn't what normally happens. What he says confuses her as much as it wounds. What he does actually hurts her, and as her power unleashes to try and disable one of his legs before he gets to her, she sobs a horrible choking release of noise. Because she's had a terrible realization about the things that make this time different, right before his electricity arcs into her and sends her to her knees with gasp of shock and pain. That's different too.

Isabella and Alexander. The mirror flies apart into shards behind her in shimmer of violence. They're here somewhere and she hears them clear as a bell, arguing, screaming, pleading with each other as she falls forward to last second catch herself with her hands, body still convulsive and recovering. She's afraid to look up, but she has to. This time, the dream isn't just about killing Byron to torture her, this Dream is actually trying to kill her. Where IS Byron if he's not right...

Doubt. She can't do that. She can't doubt. He's actually trying to fucking kill her.

It's honestly difficult to tell whether Byron is rage induced, still, due to whatever dark forces engulf them in this Dream or if those images were enough to tilt him, believing all of those negative thoughts about this woman who he loved for as long as he could remember. He was always filled with his own twisted darkness, something which he protects by keeping other mentalists out of his mind. When angered this much, especially when he feels he was made a fool of, there are no tears to be shed. Not until this thirst for revenge is quenched.

Compartmentalizing his emotions, he's good at picking and choosing what to focus on and what to ignore. It's those weaker emotions that brought him here in the first place that normally are the first to go. Dark eyes flicker, he knows exactly what Lilith can do and he needs to take her out before she gets the chance to do the same to him. When contact is made, and despite this growth in power, which he's not all that certain about, he follows through with what he knows best. This brings his hand to grasp tightly around her arm, sending that pulsating shock through her body. Hers, at least more often than not, was something impossible to dodge but he tries anyway, twisting his body away from her to pull away in the hopes that he'll throw her aim off and whatever part of him she's focused on, that she will miss. Unfortunately, that part of the gamble does not pay off and he can feel the flesh at his leg tearing, nearly bringing him down to his knees, but he remains standing on unsteady feet.

She might hear a hisss coming out from clenched teeth and he staggers back a few steps, though with each, he can feel this tearing pain shooting through his leg and to that he snarls at her, shaking his head in disgust as his tall form towers over her know that she's on her knees. He wants to strangle her so badly. "You're gonna wish that you hung yourself off of that damn bridge."

Then suddenly, the mirror shatters, forcing him to turn while taking a defensive posture, using a raised arm to protect himself against the shards. The Doppleganger versions of themselves start to filter in and if anything, there's anger in his eyes that he needs to deal with these as well. What some might not know, however, that this /IS/ the real Byron. The Byron that he hides beneath his charm and gregarious nature. The Byron that would kill to keep this part of him a secret. That would shatter the image that he'd built up for himself.

If anything, the fact that Isabella and Alexander may be around, while it does bring up some panic (for he'd have to deal with them if they found out that he killed Lilith), he warily scans the room, just in case they can see him from whatever Hell they are in.

Then he sees Lilith looking pathetically up at him. He hates her for that, there's a part of him that wants to care for her. But she's done so much harm, hasn't she? If there is doubt, he's already enraged, letting that darkest part of him out. "You shouldn't have... You brought this on yourself." He tells her, his head slowly shaking. This was just another ploy to get him to drop his guard and sympathize with her. Sure, he loves her. But this was unforgivable. The more he stared down at her, the more he knew that he had to follow through with this, less he changed his mind.

And then the rage is back. Something which almost seemed unneeded, but it does help to cement in his mind that she /was/ the betrayer and behind those wet, teary eyes, she was laughing at him. He wanted to hurt her, needed to lash out. Rather than do so physically, he attempts to invade her mind and brute force into her, this emotion of utter fear, showing her what she fears most. It's honestly a distraction attempt to stop her from lashing out once more.

When Lilith tries to push up and steel herself with stare up at Byron, breathing fast and hard, the rage from the skirmish around them, the confusion and chaos of the likenesses, it's in her too and it ignites her anew. She's determined not to doubt now, because there's some points where it's just too late. The parts of her that were terrified of her realization take a backseat and fury starts to kick in with the bare ominous ripple of power around her, like she's trying to pull something to throw at the man in defense or offense, to cause him more pain.

But she sees herself as Byron saw her in the glass, suddenly. She sees herself as she saw the teenage shadow version of herself too, the one she killed. Then she sees a terrible version of herself that throbs with so much power, it controls her. And she's not human anymore, she only looks human and thrives on the darkness and trauma of others. It's something that's better than the heroin hit of destroying, breaking, and ruining, something deeply fulfilling. The fear shows her where she goes when she loses control for the last time. The fear shows how she goes when she has nothing left but pain.

It's worse than dying here under the hands that bring her comfort or safety or pleasure. They will control her. She'll be an instrument of death and relish the despair. She's been battling feeling like she's made for it ever since it all started. It's the dark urges she couldn't shake, the ones that drove the pieces of her actual past in Miami.

She's easy prey for Byron while distracted into near hyperventilation with argument, head shaking fast, "... no. I'm not that. I'm not..."

Byron was already a broken soul, for as long as he could remember. He lived in fear, then anger and resentment. He murdered his father for all the pain that the man had caused him. He did. Or so Byron had told himself ever since Stephen Thorne's suicide. There was a part of him that wanted to pay Lilith back in that same way way back when. He wanted to make her hurt as much as she made him hurt. She told him that she did it because of her nightmares. Because she was being hunted by them. Because SHE WAS SPECIAL and shone so brightly, drawing the hungering darkness to her.

Byron had never felt that special, no matter what he did. These envious thoughts twist and entwine with this very idea that she was toying with him and his weak emotions all this time, when he knew from the start that he should have forgotten about her. There she was, looking incredibly vulnerable before him, something which conjures up those weak emotions once more.

I loved her for all these years and she... she dared to do this to me???

The images of her with de la Vega, whoring it up in her underwear to some mysterious figure, who he'll assume is most likely Grant Turner, all of that comes rushing in to flood his mind. He limps forward, but it's this anger that brings a heaviness to each uneven step rather than putting as little pressure on the bad leg as he should. "Who's special now?" The biting bitterness can be heard in his tone. There's so many things that he could do to her, but rather than electrocute her, he steps to the side of her, reaching a hand to clutch at her throat. He would choke the life out of her, break her neck. SOMETHING. By killing her, would he absorb her powers? Such warped idea keep popping into his mind.

He can feel his revolver pressed against his side, if she tries anything, he'll finish her off with that. I loved you too... There was no way that he was voicing those words out loud. She didn't deserve it, but she can see it within those intense black eyes of his as they stare down at her for what he's anticipating to be the final act.

There's so much conflict and pain swimming through Lilith right now, she almost just gives up. But there's three things that make her start to fight back with rallying a moment after she gasps for as much air as she can get before Byron cuts it off, sheer reflex. For one, she's compelled to fight and rage, not just with self-preservation-- that kicks in once she realizes she's most likely in a desperate state with the press of his gun, the violent curl of his fingers in life-stealing grip, not the squeeze of possession that comes with lust. She's compelled to fight by the fight around them, the need to let what's inside of her out on him with furious retaliation.

How dare he look at her like that, like he loves her while trying to kill her. How dare he. How dare They even do this to her, real or unreal, she doesn't care, she's mad with backlash. She starts to claw furiously at his wrists, his forearms, his pressuring hand as a leg kicks out with futile push. He's stronger than her, but she's also cheating. Each of those nail slashes cut deeper than they should, she's shredding his arm with her abilities underneath the desperate clawing, ripping open his skin through tearing fabric to splash blood down his hands and slicken his grip, to seize him with pain of fumbling for control where he has the advantage.

The blood spills on Lilith's pale throat and dress, with seeping roll, leaks on her chin and bottom lip while she glowers at him and he drips painful crimson on their violence like terrible art.

By now, Byron's perfectly styled hair is slightly disheveled and falling into his face. He wore a tuxedo for the evening, one that transformed into something more fitting of the 1930's era, and now he was missing his jacket, having discarded it when he chased after Lilith. The incredibly put together and perfect image that he'd created just hours ago was now lost to this furious madness.

In truth, despite this strong need to teach her a lesson, or because of it, with him staring down on her, just feeling her breathe and the racing of her pulse makes this all the more intimate in his mind. The intensity of his gaze keeps a near unblinking watch over her. There are times where the edges of his lips threaten to lift into a smile and for a fleeting second, it does, but that's quickly squashed by the utterly aggravated look that takes over his face. She can feel his thumb pressing firmly against her jugular knot, brushing against it before he puts on the squeeze.

Then in her desperation, she struggles to fight back and he can feel her nails digging into his flesh. This, in turn, forces him to compress his hand around her slender throat harder, something spurred on for a moment when feeling the unnatural clawing and ripping at his forearm and wrist, soaking the sleeves of his dress shirt in blood. "You fucking bitch." He seethes at her, refusing to let go of her. He was in pain, but he was this close. He could taste it. That's when his hand lights up once more, burning with a furious charge. If anything, he's looking to buy himself time and if he can't finish the job, he's hoping to make her hurt enough that he can pull back and distance himself from her, before reaching for his firearm.

None of these likenesses, these Dopplegangers mean anything to him. He's far too consumed in finishing this.

Lilith can't anymore. She can't. This heartbreak hotel is fine with the grief and despair of the moment alongside all the rage and blood, it eats it up and that door behind them pops into place. The very air is suddenly like an oppression to her as she feels her body strength sapping with her will. Her body is weakened, her brain and senses are addled, she's shaky and weaker than Byron pinning her, and to make matters worse, when she can't focus enough to fury lash with power... the fight starts to sap out of her with loss of air just as his hand starts to light up.

Byron feels her breath go under his hand before the charge goes off to jolt her and sear the delicate, bruised and crushed flesh to buy himself time for arming in alternate. He was smart getting in close, to a degree at least, as she's a glass cannon. Physically, she's just a doll of a woman, which she forgets to detriment sometimes. And she looks like a bloody doll that's limp on the flooring, splashed with his blood, not breathing when his fingers curl the hilt of his gun. Her hands slide down his arms and wrist like a last blood-soaked and tainted caress with dead weight.

Lilith is terribly still from there. The eyes that sparked with familiar life just matters of moments before, they're hidden away behind her lashes like a sooty death shroud.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Byron hears it like a taunt. And he randomly remembers singing while making dinner with Lilith to the song playing on her phone, before they made something out of what was supposed to fade into nothing at all.

"... nothing's gonna hurt you, baby. As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine..."

Byron's arms were bleeding profusely, just as that one torn leg of his was pooling blood beneath his shoe, both the pant leg and sock already soaking in it. The searing pain at his forearms is something that he chooses to ignore and the more she struggles, the harder his hand squeezes the life out of her. Once her body goes limp, after sending a strong jolt through her, he lift her up by her throat, feeling a few streams of blood dripping down the length of his arm as he does so. His other hands is at his sidearm, but she was already out.

At this moment, Byron was basking in his bittersweet victory, his grip never loosening around her neck. "Why did you have to do it, Lilith? Why? To prove that you're better than me?" He asks in hushed tones, before pulling her head close enough for him to press lips first upon her brow, then burying his face into the dark locks at the crown of her head.

It was over and she got what she deserved.

He doesn't even realize that the his likenesses were still around until he hears the laughter. The look which he gives them, as his dark eyes look from face to face, is a darkly sullen one. He doesn't ask why they are laughing and in fact, this is when he finally lets Lilith go to spill all over the floor as he uses that dominant hand to aim his revolver at the nearest likeness of himself. He knows that the exit was for his taking and with his weapon still directed to Doppleganger group, moving from face to face to ensure that he continues to target the closest person on his way out, he creeps his way towards direction.

This brings him pass those three other doors and would have easily moved on without looking into them if the visions of Lilith didn't catch his attention. His eyes narrow in on de la Vega. "Why are you showing me this ag--" The annoyance in his voice is cut short. de la Vega was covering her with a jacket and this is what brings a rise out of Byron. "Lies. You're showing me broken pieces of the same incident." He rationalizes it in that way. They were showing him this section of the memory now, after showing him the outcome. Or whenever the hell it took place during that same event.

The second vision is always a distraction, watching her there, posing in her pretty underwear. And there was no other man to focus his attention on, besides whoever it was that... He's not quite sure what's going on, in truth, and it still leaves him puzzled for the time being, before he continues.

Grant Turner's presence is never welcome. How is he supposed to know if this part was all just an act as well, so that she would show at his doorstep, roughed up the way she was. They were trying to get into his head. Twisting the reality. Trying to make him feel even worse for doing what he knew had to be done. They were twisting the facts. Showing him images out of order.

Obviously, this didn't sit well with him and in his fury, he fires off shot after shot at each of his clones, whether he hits them or not. They were not going to make him feel bad for what he'd done. She DESERVED IT. He knew! Yet, he was incredibly confused and furious that he was now pushed to the point of needing to destroy each and every one of his likenesses in this blind rage, watching as the stare back at him through his face, his eyes.

He doesn't step out of that door until he hears the clicks of an empty chamber. At that same moment, crossing that threshold, his phone goes off. It was... Lilith. She had her own ringtone, one that he recognizes instantly. But how was she calling him? Tossing the revolver aside, he takes a deep breath to reach for his phone. She'd sent him a video... of herself in that lingerie. Just that sight alone is enough to make his blood run cold, the screen of his phone wavering within his trembling, bloodied hand.

They come out in rapid fire succession as he turns to scramble out the door.

Lilith doesn't remember much more than relief. This is the way it should end. This is the way she's supposed to penance, this is the way she's supposed to break the nightmare of killing Byron in her sleep for so many years. She just has to die. She thinks she feels him kiss her before blackness takes her entirely. That's enough, isn't it? It doesn't matter anymore. There's just emptiness and bleak nothing from there to match her lying still and broken, leaking blood from the ears and nose and the corner of her mouth, the man's blood decorating her further to paint their struggle and her final moments-- it's a garishly pretty picture of how horribly she died to the only man she could love.

Her hair breezes subtly with tiny motion to emphasize her lack of motion and dead weight in backhanded contrast when a wind starts to slip through. Lilith doesn't go through the door, just Byron and all his parting rage with that gun, straight into darkness. At least, it looks that way from this side.

Byron's phone is still in his hand when he hears them. Nevermind, that none of his shots made any difference. He wanted just one of them to bleed out and to suffer. With the scantily clad vision of Lilith still in hand, his retreat is finalized with the slam of the door.

In the background he could hear the romantic piano melody being played through the speakers and despite what he'd experienced, everything seemed to be in place. Their words plague him though and then there's the video. That's what that memory was trying to show him. It was all a Dream and yet, where was Lilith?

Still rattled by the thought that he'd killed his cheating, conniving lover, he needed this time to reclaim his bearings and sort everything out in his mind. The video was evidence, right? That she wasn't the whore he had thought she was. Nevermind, the way he had dismissed the other revelations, finding good reason as to why the Darkness would show him those things. He wasn't shaken by the fact that he believed he killed Lilith-- No, that's a lie. Despite his ability to do something, no matter how harsh or cruel, and move on with his life immediately following, just this memory of strangling the life out of her, then electrocuting her to make sure that she was dead is something that weighs heavily on him. He wouldn't feel so bad if her treachery were truth. Of course, it would hurt, but she would've got what she had coming.

Now, however, he's uncertain. Almost like a zombie, he wanders the room and the first place that he hits up is the bar to absently pour himself a hard drink. Forget the glass of wine set perfectly on the dining room table. Despite the turmoil now rising inside of him, Byron's known to hold his shit together. It's what made him a brilliant liar. So he pours a glass of vodka with a steady hand before he lifts that glass up for a taste, looking forward to that burning sensation against his lips and tongue.

He felt numb, despite the calm way in which he carries himself. He needed to think on what to do next. But what had he done? That's the question most prevalent in his mind. It's not that he'd forgotten. Not at all, he can still feel her life force pulsating beneath his thumb before being snuffed out entirely. He had killed her, but for what reason? God, he could only hope that she was the betraying bitch that he was shown, but something was nagging at his mind, telling him that it was all a lie.

After the drink, as he wanders the the suite, it's not all that large, despite having several rooms, Byron reaches his mind out in search of her own. If she were dead, he wouldn't be able to pick it up, but he's also wary of other presence in the apartment with his paranoia quickly rising. He'll start in the living room, where the Valentine's Dinner set up was placed, then move on to the kitchen and towards the hallway leading the the various other rooms in the place.

Byron picks up Lilith's familiar mind like a pulse of presence without much effort needed, and it's no wonder he can't find her initially. She's in the hallway in the dark, between the bedroom and the hall bathroom by his office. She's wearing the red dress she was in for Valentine's Day, her hair is back to the elegant and elaborate arrangement it was before. But she's still splashed with his blood all the same and marked with her own from the ears and nose. With her hair up, with any sense of lighting there's awful bruising on the pale flesh where it's not seared with a raw burn, and both markings in combo have the shape of ill-aligned finger marks to them.

And she's conscious, but just barely, like she literally just came to in some sense and conscious only because self-preservation is telling her to be. Her body is twisted, she's lost a heel, and she's creeping herself in tiny skids of drag toward the bathroom door while prone and laid like that. It's horrible and desperate and slow and scrabbling for speed when she can hear his footsteps in her buzzed and addled brain, her breath wheezing. She can't think. She can't feel. She just fears and hurts and wants to hide and the footsteps are the most terrifying thing in the world to her right now.

With her crawling like that, the dress is hiked up, showing the same lingerie as in the video on Byron's phone with pale and lacy satin flash, familiar from the pose on her bed in the dream. She'd taken them before getting the dress on, no doubt. For him. For him. For him.

But when Byron's shadow approaches with those footsteps, what she'd generally sense as his body, much like he senses her mind, it spurs her to try and move faster before she half-rolls to look up at him, wild-eyed and already flaring with defensive bristle and distress that preludes one of her lash outs. It's probably safe to say she's not about to break the espresso mugs or even the windows right now, though. But she might damn well try to break him.

Almost immediately once Byron scans the apartment with his mind, does he pick up Lilith's familiar presence and it was near. In fact, he was heading in that direction to begin with. Mentally gauging her emotional state, he slams the rest of the vodka back to place the emptied glass onto a nearby counter, before he steps foot out into the hall. At first, his a stony countenance, still reeling from what he knows that he'd done to her. But she's alive here now, when he believed that he killed her. He didn't.

Seeing her weakened, prone form try to drag herself down the hall towards the bathroom, it elicits a hard silent swallow from him. There was a mixture of emotion swelling within him. On one hand, she was alive and he was grateful that he hadn't killed her. Not when those visions are proving to be false. Though on the other, he had almost killed her and in some way, despite her innocence, he wished that he did. This was the man that he was trying to hide from her. From everyone. The man who would find you expendable no matter how close the relationship if the situation called for it. If he felt he was backed into a corner.

It was Showtime.

His arms immediately lift, his brow furrowing, "Lilith. Lilith it's me." That's how he'll start it, looking completely and utterly shaken by the Dream. That, in itself, holds truth. "I thought I..." Tremble in his tone, "I thought I killed you. They made me believe that I..." Drawing in hard, wavering breath, he takes a cautious step forward, hands still up. Those dark familiar eyes to her, eyes which no longer hold that calculating intensity, shift wildly to take in her physical state. "I'm so, so sorry." Another deep breath. "They made me believe--" He takes another quick few steps and if she allows it, he will crouch down beside her so that he can better inspect her.

It's instinct to lose control and make anything nearby hurt in some way. Lilith can't really hear Byron the way she needs to hear him, he sounds like a blur, she's having trouble focusing and she's about to rip into him on principle, but she's lucky enough to see his eyes. Or rather, he's lucky enough. The problem is, it doesn't quite ease her like his presence normally does. She calms down enough by sheer force of will and nothing attacks, she stops trying to crawl to the bathroom. Instead, she rolls the rest of the way onto her back and stares at the ceiling instead of looking at Byron when he crouches, hollow eyed, bloody, bruised, burned, and helplessly wheezing from the damages to her throat.

She's shaking like a leaf, some of it nerves from electrocution, some of it pain, some of it trauma, some of it the residue of him being so close while she's prone again. But all the fight falls out of her and she lets herself be inspected. In fact, the way she's been zapped twice with the burning significant on her arm especially where he first grabbed her with electrified rage, the skin raw and bubbled, there's a little less severity at her throat, but honestly, all that combined with the bruising on her skin is a double shot of pain and nasty that isn't deadly, clearly, but...

Maybe the most disturbing thing of all is what Byron gets when his mind brushes and melds with hers in brief to feel her emotional state. Usually she's a strong read, a bit of a tempest, even when things are good inside, like she only knows how to be on one mode, for better or worse. It's usually like a buzz of energy shot, especially these days, even when she's nervous or afraid. But right now, maybe it's the trauma, the literal shocks to her system addling her, or the fact that she's still kind of operating on a base level instead of processing with higher thinking function.

In a sense, it really does feel like part of her died, somehow, in contrast. She doesn't know where to put much she's feeling, she doesn't know what to think. She hurts through and through, in more ways than physical pain could ever allow. And beyond that... it's like a static buzz of dead air space. Lilith is shut down right now.

Uncertain as how she would react, there's this moment of tension where Lilith is still staring up at him and Byron has paused mid-step to make certain that she's not about to lash out at him. Perhaps, sensing her ease or the fact that it looks as if she felt defeated, he takes the few short steps to bring himself close to her, before easing himself down into a crouch. He then immediately inspects her, even though he knows exactly what damage that he'd done. He can imagine it all so vividly in his mind, though what he remembers most of all is when he'd squeezed at her throat. Some would say that he was in a blind rage then, but he knew what he was doing. That doesn't stop him from showing interest in her neck wound and then the burn at her arm.

If anything, his features are clouded with concern. Just seeing the damage done to her, how much force he put into in in his anger. And the fact that he was being duped by Them. In a gentle manner, he lifts her damaged arm, pressing a thumb gently down around the burned area. The memories of being electrocuted, himself, return to his mind and here, his dark eyes move to seek out Lilith's to examine just how dilated her eyes were. "Lily, sweetie." He says softly, his voice now filled with genuine worry, "I'm going to take you to the hospital, alright? Just to have you checked out." As he says this, he leans forward to carefully scoop her up into into arms, "Unless there's someone else that you wanted me to call to.. to take care of this."

Unless, she fights against his hold, he'll bring himself to stand as he leans his face in close. He starts with nuzzling his nose against her cold cheek, before tilting his head forward to rest his forehead against the side of her face. She can feel the muscles in his arm tighten and contract. His thick lashes brush against his own cheeks when he shuts his eyes, "I..." He inhales deeply through the nose, then licks at his lips, "I am so sorry. I wish that I could take it all back, Lil. I really do."

For now, his primary goal was to get her some medical aid. From there, he can sort out what else needs to be done to help mend her, both emotionally and mentally. "Let's get you some help, okay?" He wants to add on Everything's going to be okay. But not even he's sure about that.

Lilith doesn't make a peep. She doesn't say a word through any of that, not even the part about the hospital. She. Hates. The. Hospital. But does she complain? Not at all, even though he's also hazily aware of what she probably looks like, knows he shouldn't be carrying her in there marked up like this. Normally, she'd try to protect him, to hide their strife because it's theirs and no one else's, just like their love, and she doesn't want his image marred with a rogue rumor, no matter what just happened.

What just happened...

There's the barest shift of wheezing breath with irregularity and pick up of panic surge or discomfort when Byron picks her up to cradle her body, but Lilith doesn't fight it. Her limbs are heavy, and though she's being incredibly docile, it's disturbing. To be fair, her pupils are somewhat dilated from shock on both accounts when it comes to usage of the word, but she's not comatose or anything. She is responding to affection, at least to degrees, because when the man puts his face in to nuzzle and rest their faces together and breathe, to speak with apology, her own head tilts into it with small, bare turn. It's fine. Everything is fine.

It's not. But Lilith doesn't know how to make anything real right now. Or maybe, given the way her mind is on shut down...

It's her refusal to let anything in enough to be real at all right now. Some things are just too much. Sometimes there's no words or places to put these kinds of things, sometimes there's no way to even feel or think. So she doesn't. Even when she's in the hospital for check-in and treatment, for doctors' questions, she won't rasp out a single word of response. Byron has to do all the talking. Maybe that's better.

He's good at lying.