she fought through hell to come back for him. it was a hell of her own making, yes, but that should count for something. and here she is, bleeding heart - bleeding everything - and he raises a dagger instead.

she'd take the blaziken again over this.

maybe. 

"nothing." she gives him a sideways glance because turning her head hurts and then she closes her eyes with a sigh. nothing you will say. "i want you to shut up and hold my hand.

"that's enough," she says wearily.

KING WAYLAND

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she wants to ease him. she wants to do so much for him and yet there is a visceral part of her that shies away from it. because they're messy and tangled in all the wrong ways.

and that's her fault too, isn't it?

she gives his hand a faint squeeze locking their fingers together.

"i wasn't asking you to fight for them. not really. i was asking you to fight for me."

KING WAYLAND

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she holds his gaze with a flint-eyed stare of her own. her path has been shadowed for so long - twisting and winding. but now she has resolve. now she has purpose. now she has reason to fight for herself, her home, her people. 

and now he's said he can't walk that path with her, when all of this is said and done.

her gaze drops to their joined hands. her thumb is idly rubbing circles over his and it stills. slowly, she withdraws, licking her lips and tasting salt and copper. disappointment sits hot and heavy in her thin lips, the set of her jaw.

he has drawn a line in the sand and she doesn't know what to say, not with most of her faculties shut down and a fire in her shoulder. all she can do is feel, too tired to put a mask over the emotions flitting across her face. 

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"yes," she says, "i do."

he goes to stand and she does not make a move to stop him. her mouth twists and something awful settles on her chest, a tightness that makes a sound in the back of her throat. she swallows thickly.

"i need to sleep," she says, even though her stomach growls at the idea of food. how long has it been since her last meal? two days?

"thank you," she adds stiffly, impersonally. she lies back as slowly as she can; every ounce of her wants to screech at the fire in her shoulder.

KING WAYLAND

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the door clicks shut. her beating/bleeding heart keeps racing, making her twitch and shudder with gritted teeth. frustration that she can't spring up and chase after him - to pin him down and strike/kiss him for being a fool. instead all she can do is feel her hurt and see her waking nightmares.

the flesh does not care for the torments of the mind and miraculously, she falls asleep. and she sleeps. in her worst hours, when she is dragged kicking and sputtering back to the surface, her goodra is there to spread its life-giving hands against her shoulder. and so she sleeps, and she sleeps.

when she wakes, xen is in the room with her. remembering is hard, but when it comes back, it does so all at once, and when she staggers out of bed and the lucario makes for the door, she says, "at least give me a head start."

everything about her hurts, but she fumbles her way to the bathroom. tucks the door closed behind her. fingers hesitate on the lock - she leaves it open. and then she works on peeling off her filthy trousers, the burnt and shredded shirt. her eyes smart as she pulls it away from her flesh.

her gaze avoids the mirror.

through a veil of pain, she manages to twist the knob to the bath. ice cold water spurts into the tub. she does not care. she plugs drain and carefully crawls in; her shoulder blades smack painfully against the back of the tub as she relaxes all at once, a hiss drawn through her teeth.

KING WAYLAND

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lyra waits patiently outside of the bathroom, but her antennae droop. she had been up most of the night tending to her mistress, so she is half asleep and startles awake when xen re-enters the room.

a wary calm settles over her as she stands protectively before the door, but the lucario intends only to deliver a package.

it bubbles slightly in her goopy palms.

freya has drained the tub once already. though king had taken care of the outer layer of grime, and the worst of it near her wounds, she is downright filthy. the water turns an awful rust color and after a tiresome lather of soap, and wringing out a hand towel, she is back to resting.

the water is warmer now, but tepid. too hot and it will scald the still-raw skin on her shoulder.

her chin jerks when the door opens. a soft flicker of hope is snuffed when lyra maneuvers her large body into the bathroom. she rolls the bath bomb into frey's waiting hand and looks skeptically down at the water. freya should notice the exhaustion on lyra's face but she doesn't.

she's looking at the four stubby little legs and the somewhat melted grooves of the pseudo dragon's shell. a barely contained sob wracks her body. lyra reaches a glowing, dewey hand to her shoulder in alarm, but freya shrugs her off and gently lowers the little gift into the water.

it totters as bubbles drift away from it. she hugs her side and watches it dissipate. passionfruit wafts up her nose. and when it's gone, the tub's water turned a stormy grey and just as cold, with pruny fingers, freya grabs lyra's arm and hauls herself out of the tub.

water cascades off of her and sloughs onto the floor. she slips to the counter, palm swiping at the faint sheen of steam on the mirror. and she sees herself as she is, and as what she's done. bubbles cling to her naked skin, but they do not cover that puckered, ugly shape of pink-skeined charred flesh on her shoulder or her split apart, peppercorn face.

how can i say anything to him when i look like this. shame sweeps hotly through her, frustration at her vapid anguish, but for once she mourns the loss of her beauty. only now she has found a reason to care about such a thing.

lyra's body soaks up most of the water and afterwards, she seems rather refreshed. she helps freya out of the bathroom and into a towel, and then into some of king's sweatpants and a loose fitting tee. despite her glib snuffs, freya returns her to her ball.

she lingers there, alone, but eventually the smell of breakfast gets the better of her.

KING WAYLAND

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