DEFEND [RESERVED]

[Lyric Shikov]

Lyric could not form a thought in English for what he saw around him. The Russian Delta stood at the front of the Speakeasy steps, overlooking the autumn trees as they blossomed in an array of reds, golds, and oranges. It was cold enough that his breath would have been visible regardless of the cigarette smoke. August would not be pleased that he had borrowed yet another of the alleged "cancer sticks" but Lyric had needed it to settle his nerves. It had been too long since he had seen Rory, although that was his fault and not her own. As distance was prone to cause two things; either disconnection or sentiment. In Lyric's case, he was beginning to feel as though his affection and need for Rory would be unbearable to sustain during their times apart. He had begun to think of her less and less, although not without effort. A memory would rouse, perhaps of her sweet smile, and Lyric would force himself to shove it away. 

Cigarette smoke bellowed from his nostrils as he exhaled. He leaned into the rusted rail leading up to the chapel and allowed his eyes to refocus on the distant trees. He could not say why, but he was reminded suddenly of the dacha his family had gone to during the summer before his father had grown too affectionate towards other women and his mother had grown too bitter. He had only been a child then but he could remember it in perfect clarity; the icy pond and the spruce that lined it, towering high into the painfully blue sky like spires. There had been no harsh autumn colors then, but it had smelled strongly of the trees and wilderness. It was one of the few times Lyric had left Moscow. 

He was drawn from his thoughts by the approach of a silhouette. It was unmistakably his Rory, if only due to the wings. He felt that old enthrallment and excitement, which came hand in hand. Lyric stooped to snub out the butt of the cigarette and then straightened. It was an unbearable moment during which he was forced to wait, very nearly on the edge of annoyance. He wanted to touch her now. He wanted to see her now. But then she was one step below him, smiling up at Lyric in that sweet, innocent way of hers. He could not stay vexed and returned her smile. He did not touch her yet but, instead, stepped coyly around her so as to drop to a step just below her. He had reversed their position suddenly so as to put them almost eye-level. "Moy Rory." She was the same as he remembered. Lyric's tawny eyes settled on her; he had missed her and her softness, her naive love. He leaned to kiss her delicately on each eyelid, slyly on the tip of her nose, and then slowly on the lips. 

[AURORA]

Aurora loved the crispness of the autumn air. It had cooled considerably in the last few weeks. The summer heat had not settled well with her English raised Polish blood, and as the days grew colder it also brought about the memories of last year’s winter. The snow ball fights, and playing in the pretty snow … hide and seek … Lyric’s beautiful brown feline fur gliding beneath her fingers. Even now she smiled; lips drawing into a closed mouthed bow as she both remembered good times and anticipated seeing Lyric.

Their last time together had been fun, but the fear the large water had struck into her chilled her more than the wind that blew across her alabaster face. Suddenly, in the distance she could see the Speakeasy and she hastened all the more. Without even looking she knew Lyric was there already … waiting for her.

There was a series of pulses that took up her vision abruptly in the distance, distracting her for a breath and she stopped but for a second. What … those pulses, like little lights she could feel but not see. Just like before … but there were more. Aurora shook her head to clear the sensation, and continued on. In her normal pants, boots, and shirt, her wings fluttered excitedly – almost of their own accord. It made traversing the ground feel and look like a moon landing and realizing this her wings snapped to her back tightly.

Reaching the steps she bounded up and smiled. Lyric maneuvered himself until their height was the same, and his kisses sent the light-like pulses through every part of her. When his lips touched hers there was an undercurrent, and when he pulled away a small shock hit their lips.

Rory’s large black eyes widened in surprise and she smiled impishly before throwing her arms about his shoulders and hugging him fiercely. There was a lot more material between them then the last time they had been together, and it frustrated her slightly. She wanted to feel him. Her cold nose burrowed down to his neck where she breathed in his scent and smiled against his skin.

”Hi,” she said almost inaudibly before pulling back to look at him. She bounced once with excitement, her teeth catching the bottom of her lip and she smiled brightly. ”I missed you,” she said happily.

[Lyric Shikov]

The simple naivety of it made him smile. Lyric's arms rose to encircle her waist, holding her tight against his chest in a way that completely undid him. He was terrible with words but, as always, his actions manage to convey what his tongue could not; he had missed her, and wished to hold her as close as he could for as long as he could because he cared for her so deeply. "I missed you," Lyric returned, humorously. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes, a playfulness that she managed to evoke so easily. His fingertips rose to brush the length of her cheek, albeit not with tenderness. Rather, there was something vaguely possessive about the motion. A thousand dark thoughts came rushing to him. He wondered whether or not she had been happy. He wondered if anyone had hurt her. He wondered what he would do to them if they had. He was also plagued by doubts. Had she made more friends? People that would replace him in her heart? 

He had no doubt that one day that would be the case. They would meet and Aurora would tell him of a wonderful, wonderful new friend--probably male. Lyric already felt sickened and envious by the prospect, although it had not yet arrived. "How have you been?" He asked with offhanded casualness, which masked the underlying intensity of the question. "Have they been treating you well?" His knuckles had come to rest against her cheek but Lyric now slid his hand backward, into her dark hair. He laughed, softly, his eyes surprisingly soft. "Jesus, I have missed you, yubov moya!" He did not have the courage to speak the endearment in English. 

It was then that Lyric became slowly aware of something amiss. A silence had developed around them, devoid of the common bird-calls. The wind was all that remained. He cast a glance behind himself, towards the treeline, but he could not distinguish any shapes among the thick trunks. Lyric glanced back at Rory with an almost indolent expression. Apprehension curled along his spine, prickling the hairs at the nape of Lyric's neck. He licked his chapped lips and stepped closer into her. He did not wish to concern her with a fear that could have been imaginary. He was worried that someone from Carna may have followed him, to keep "tabs". "Should we go inside?" Lyric had some vague plans for their evening together. It may have been a sort of repetitive routine, but he would have liked to play her something on the piano and drink the most expensive bottle of liquor he could find. 

[AURORA]

His large calloused hands on her face, around her waist, in her hair – catnip. Her mouth turned in to his knuckles to feel them against her lips. With each question she simply nodded, her sweet smile reassuring that she was indeed okay.

There were things to tell him surely, but later would be better. She didn’t want to spoil this, and now she had quite forgotten to bother in the first place. When he laughed her smile broadened and his admittance again that he had missed her warmed her as a hearth’s flame.

Again she hugged him, kissing him where she could in excitement that they were together ag- ... he turned suddenly. Those pulses that she’d felt earlier had grown stronger and her brows knit in concern. When he turned back around it was with composure. She knew that look. She’d seen it more than she’d have liked to only this time his expression was not met with confusion and question. Her large dark eyes met his with understanding, comprehension and almost before he had finished his sentence she was taking his hand and turning to walk up the steps.

It was not the hurried steps of someone that was quick to get inside; instead it was the deliberate steps of knowing one was being watched from a distance. Surely she could see them. Her eyesight had sharpened immeasurably many months ago. Abruptly she turned before they stepped through the door; those large dark eyes focusing past Lyric into the distance and saw…

She gasped - a hand to her mouth and she froze in panic trapped in the doom of what she could not stop. The figure knocked an arrow to his bow, letting it fly straight and true … rapidly it flew, right for its target. ”Lyric,” escaped her in a panicked whisper.

Suddenly she was slammed against a sturdy surface, and another loud noise hit her ears before a thud and crack of wood followed. It was so fast, it was almost as if she had missed time. Aurora’s head rose, her mind catching up to see Lyric had hauled her inside, curling her into the inside wall and slamming the door before an arrow sank almost to the fletching … right where their heads had been.

[Lyric Shikov]

Lyric. 

That was all it took for him to understand. His body reacted without his mind having to. Safety. That was the only thing that he could think, although with no coherence. It was the thought of a cornered, protective animal. The Delta moved with the speed of a man driven not by his mind but by muscle memory, by reflex. He pulled Rory to him and opened the heavy door of the Speakeasy in the same breath, reacting to the tone of her voice and the apprehension that had already gathered inside of him, taunt as the bow that had just been drawn and released. He heard the heavy thud of the arrow hitting the now-closed door of the Speakeasy, no doubt shot from a long-bow considering the force it had just exerted. 

His breathing came heavily as his mind skipped. He backed Rory away from the door reflexively. "I want you to be very, very quiet." Lyric was whispering now. The only light in the chapel was the thick, dark light filtered in through the stained glass windows. Blue and gold and red were scattered artfully across Rory's face. She was beautiful, but he could not think on that. His heart was beating and he was thinking that the arrow had been deliberate; the shooter would not give up easily, or at least that's what Lyric was assuming. "Go and hide by the pulpit. Fast!" Lyric released her and half-turned toward the door. But it was already too late. Those great doors were thrown open with little regard for what lay on the other side; he leapt back to avoid them, his eyes widening at the small group gathered just outside. 

He moved to place himself protectively in front of Rory, his lips drawing away from his teeth in an animalistic show of aggression. There had to be at least seven or eight of them, although he did not have time to count them properly before they charged, a mass of enemy lines. This was nothing like the Russian pit-fights. This was like a war. Lyric's hands found his knives and he slashed out the nearest men, attempting to keep them back--there were simply too many! They rushed around, a single man going to apprehend Rory as another struck Lyric cleanly across the face with his blade. 

The slit was hot and red across his brow, dripping blood into his eyes. He blinked it out frantically and released a hoarse yell; hands gripped him, struck at him, and he could hear the ominous panting of two lupines. He ignored that for now, lunging toward his nearest attacker--an older man with thick brunette hair and a mustache. Lyric slashed with a blade and he backpedaled, but he did not anticipate the fact that the first blow was merely a feign. Lyric stepped forward as he had slashed, drawing his second blade up at a sharp angle through the ribs. He felt the resistance of flesh, which then parted, his knife sliding cleanly in--shit! 

He did not have the time to yank it free before he felt the sharp, painful bite of teeth against his calf. He howled out in pain, brought crashing to the ground by a heavy weight against his back. That damn wolf! Hot saliva pooled at Lyric's neck, the breath of the animal hot against him, teeth threatening. He felt animal fear, then, the sort that was derived from some visceral part of the brain. He thrashed and struggle to no avail and, in his distress, he shifted out of instinct rather than choice. This dislodged one of the wolves (the one which had soundly pinned Lyric with its weight). The other did not relinquish its hold on Lyric's leg. 

He spun backward to face them, yowling. Lashing out with his paw he connected a sound blow to the side of one wolf's head; its eyes grew distanced and dizzy just as Lyric twisted in on himself in a way that only cats could. His teeth latched on to the head of the second wolf, the one which had savaged his leg. He made short work of it, wrenching at a harsh angle so as to hear the satisfying pop of a broken neck. The wolf went slack. 

He did not have time to revel in his victory. The first wolf, a rangy and red animal, slammed against Lyric's chest. It knocked the breath out of him but put the wolf in a precarious position; right against Lyric's face. He outweighed the lupine and he rose up into them, mouth agape, only to be rejected abruptly by the violent force against his ribs. He was sent sprawling, his side aching something fierce. No. It was not an ache, but a painful sting. A whitetail buck towered above the felled puma; the animal arched its neck at an angle, aiming its sharp antlers towards Lyric's stomach. 

Lyric rolled into the deer, rutting himself against the front legs of the animal. It was unbalanced enough for Lyric to slash out with his claws (he was in a precarious position, almost on his stomach beneath the beast) towards the whitetail's stomach. Its strange, inhuman scream was the only thing that told Lyric he had hit his mark. He was carrying himself forward with his momentum, struggling to rise just as that rangy wolf lunged at him all over again. Eyes-wide, he reacted by meeting the lupine half-way. They clashed in a flurry of claws, teeth, and earth-splitting snarls.

It ended abruptly when Lyric blinded the sorry sonuva bitch with one harsh blow against his face. It incapacitated them enough that he was then able to force their head up and grip their throat in an asphyxiating grip. The wolf went slack and Lyric rolled to his feet, believing the battle had been fought and won, only to face the sight of two angry humans. One was a woman with thick, blonde hair. The other was the man with the bow. 

In his peripheal, the Delta caught sight of the man he had first stabbed. His knife was there, buried to the hilt in his stomach. His second knife had come to rest some three yards away. He mentally groaned and rose, shifting as he did so, so that he faced the two people with his shoulders squared and his head held high. He was bloody from the battle already, sick feeling and vaguely fatigued. The bowman raised his weapon, aimed directly at Lyric. He panicked and reacted in an instinctual fashion, lashing out with a hand stretched outward. The electricity was visible, a jagged current shot from his fingertips. It crackled, ill-controlled, but it was enough. The muscles of the bowman stiffened and his fingers convulsed against the bow. The notched arrow was pointed down at the last second so as to bounce harmlessly off the floor. Lyric took a running leap at him, hitting the man squarely.

He felt the violent strength in his limbs, enhanced by the Keepers. They collapsed and wrestled until Lyric assumed his position on top, pinning the bowman. The blonde was gripping him artfully, attempting to yank him free--to no avail! Lyric sat there, oblivious to pain or anything outside of the moment. He reared back and punched again and again at the face of the bowman, driven by a rage he was unfamiliar with. All he could think of was that initial arrow next to Rory's head and how it could have easily killed her. He felt his knuckles ache (he worried that he may have cracked them) but he also became aware that they were sopping wet. 

The bowman no longer had a face. Blood had splattered across Lyric's, a grisly warpaint. As he attempted to rise, the blonde yanked him backward. What she did next was a low blow, kicking him harshly in the ribs with what Lyric knew had to be steel-toed boots. He groaned and, in his peripheal he saw the long arch of a blade in the light--where the hell had she gotten a machete?! He had nothing with which to defend himself; Lyric could only flail out a powerful arm, knocking her legs clear out from beneath her. The machete still managed to cut a sharp, jagged line into his stomach. He rolled to position himself atop her as he had just done the bowman; he reached out and crack went her neck, like a yearling tree snapping. 

He was exhausted and bleeding heavily. Lyric had thought that that was all. He rose now, wiping the blood from his eyes, to stagger in Aurora's direction. He had to make sure she was okay--

[AURORA]

With Lyric’s command to hush, Aurora’s lips parted to admit an involuntary, fearful noise. Her own hands smothered her mouth, and she nodded in understanding – once to be quiet, then twice to hide. She never got that far …

They burst through the door without warning, and the fright caused the black winged anthro to trip over herself in panic, managing to scramble behind the piano away from the fray. Lyric, her Lyric was before them – ready with his knives and steel resolve. She could not see his face, but she could see theirs. There was no time to think, harsh breathes ripped from her large lungs, her throat straining to keep quiet and unnoticed. Chaos. She squeezed her eyes shut, her arms hiding her head to block out the horrible noises.

Something touched her, and she reacted without thought. Her wings flapped awkwardly as thick foreign arms grappled with her small body, gathering her wings and gripping her waist to haul her back into a bruising hold. Fear froze her vocal chords, her breath straining against the strong limbs that contracted her middle. There was no room, no room for her to move, to spread her wings, to flap … to scream. A large hand, larger even than Lyric’s clutched at her throat like a row of sausages, making it impossible to utter a sound. The tip if an ebon wing flapped independently with a quiet fierceness but after a moment - it stopped.

Unintentionally he had positioned Aurora in such a way that she was forced to watch, watch as Lyric fought too many for too long. Hot tears streamed down her face, the arresting grip on her throat slowly making her world less and less real. Lyric cried out and Aurora’s body bucked ineffectively in answer, her tortured black eyes taking in Lyric’s blood and pain and wishing it were her own. Her struggle might have been a butterfly’s caught in a fist as much good as her efforts did her.

Time moved slowly then, (or perhaps her mind raced) as if to brand the horrible moments into her memory forever. Another cry of pain came from Lyric and the sound splintered against her heart like a bullwhip. CRACK. This cannot happen, demanded a part of herself in a tone she had never before used. The hairs on Aurora’s arms and neck rose at the otherness that spoke. Claws scraped against the floor, and another shout hit her body like a title wave. The hand that held her captive by her windpipe released her neck to grasp her hair, and her head snapped back.

No. Her legs began to kick as hard as she could, adding weak thuds to the sounds of the anarchy that had quieted considerably. Covered in blood, Lyric struggled towards her those beautiful tawny eyes hidden from her view. She’d seen him fight before, and seen him win or make out every time. He’d be alright, Lyric always was.

[Lyric Shikov]

Lyric turned to realize that he was not yet finished. His expression showed nothing, not even fatigue, perhaps due to the fact that he was beyond exhaustion. He had pushed his body to extremes in the past; it was something that was necessary in the fighting rings and, back then, he had not possessed the same strength or endurance. He was simply at a loss with how to treat this situation. Lyric fought for himself and never anyone else. He understood now why Leena had once called him a liability. 

Aurora was clasped by the remaining assailant. Had the circumstances been different, Lyric would have cracked a smile at the image of a Goliath clutching a girl so small she seemed akin to a child. He stepped forward, hand outstretched as though to reach for her. "This is between us," Lyric said, thickly, although it was only a guess. He did not know these men. The Delta's eyes flicked from Rory's to rest on the man's. He met Lyric's gaze, not flinching from it. There was undisguised wrath there, a sort of savagery that Lyric had witnessed (and perhaps shown) often in the Menagerie. He derived a sort of vindictive pleasure at seeing it now, in this man's face, for it meant that Lyric had hurt him. The gargantuan man had to have known many of those that lay dead at Lyric's feet. 

"Well," said the man, hoarsely. "Let's make it between us." He cast Rory aside violently then, practically shoving her to the ground. He lunged at Lyric as a man but hit him squarely as a bull. The impact sent Lyric flying; he hit the ground with a heavy thud, dazed and breathless. His chest heaved, his mouth agape. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. He was gasping in an effort to recover; but the bull had already become a man again. He pinned Lyric at the waist.

As though out of his own body, Lyric noted that his hands were trembling. The man's entire body quivered with a sort of tension or uncertainty, although Lyric could not say which it was. Zivon Shikov felt a strange, acrid fear then. He struggled but could not dislodge his opponent. He was still dazed from the initial impact; it was now, and only now, that he became aware of the fact one of the bull's horns had caught his chest. He was bleeding heavily.

He was struck. Right across the face.

His head cracked to the side and his vision swam. He fought to free his limbs, at least his arms, but they were held beneath the heavy weight of the man's thighs. He struck Lyric a second time, this time more harshly than the first. "You killed them," the Goliath whispered, quietly at first. Then he repeated it at a yell. "You killed them!" 

Lyric's head snapped to the side in the opposite direction. He could taste his own blood and could not even find his voice to tell Rory to run, to get away from this place. A sort of old hopelessness filled him and a sick, vindictive voice filled his ear. "This is what you always want," it said to him. "Are you not happy?" Again and again and again; he groaned, face split beneath the furious fists of his attacker. Those powerful hands un-clenched to encircle his throat as they had just done to Rory; the pressure was crushing.

Why wasn't he afraid? Why wasn't he angry? Lyric's eyes opened to see the light above, lit in a thousand colors by the stained glass. His vision swam and darkened and his heart thudded wildly in his ears even as he thought, I'm not afraid. It hurts so badly, but I'm not afraid. I just want to... I just want to sleep.

He always fought with such animalistic savagery to live. It was his body that did it, however, not his mind. It was here, in this moment, that Lyric became stripped bear. He was not a brave man. He may have been a fighter and a savage, but he did not possess the real courage it took to live. He would have been happy to die there in a pool of his own blood and the blood of others. But happy wasn't the right word.

Really, he wouldn't have cared. He was so selfish that the fact Aurora was watching did not cause him to stir; his fingers may have curled and uncurled but his retaliation had ended as soon as his breath had been robbed from him. Lyric could no longer think. It was just this mellow, dark pain. He could not see. He could not breathe. His body began to buck and writhe, panicking instinctively. Despite this, his mind was tiredly calm.  

[AURORA]

When Lyric’s hand stretched out Aurora’s instinctively reached forward to meet it, but the strong arms hauled her back against his chest almost domineeringly. This is between us. it was quite then for a moment. So quiet, that she was sure the drumming of her heartbeat could be heard across the Menagerie. Suddenly she was pitched -but even through the air her eyes never left Lyric. Landing was another matter, and she hit hard. The bruising force caught her wrist wrong as she slammed onto the floor, her temple connecting hard enough to cause stars in her vision.

Before she could process what happened the beast was on Lyric, and was not letting up. Aurora waited, waiting for her fantastic Lyric to leap up and finish him. But he didn’t. Dread - thick and cold clutched her body and the blood drained from her face as she realized… he was killing him. Killing her Lyric.

The large man hit him, again and again – bellowing unintelligibly about things Aurora did not care about. What she cared about was taking the punishment from his fists. She had never seen that look on Lyrics face, it was … What? She couldn’t quite name it but she knew the fight was gone and that above all was what pushed her over. There was a quiet moment in the black haired girl’s mind then, where no thought was needed it was a feeling … an instinct. She closed her eyes.

No, refused the dark voice again - but this time the conviction was palpable. This time, she clutched to that darkness – then threw the doors open. The pulses suddenly hit her senses in an unstoppable avalanche, grating against her nerves and stealing her breath. Her large black eyes snapped open and her fingers began to vibrate, the pulses radiating like sparklers in the night.

The air seemed to change then, the charge in the room humming in readiness. Quietly, Aurora rose to her feet smoothly, her demeanor deceptively relaxed. Inside she felt … she felt. A corner of her mind grasped for the word and it hit her; rage. An outside part of her lent a moment to the feeling that she’d had when the creature had attacked her in Nakoma weeks before and she realized that had been the seductive darkness rearing up to strike her foe down … a chill went down her spine because despite herself she recalled - she liked it.

Never before had she even been angry. Sad, regretful, in pain yes but anger had never been something she had learned, or found a use for. Now … it was like her life-blood and the sparks that sizzled in her vision and through her fingers was as addictive and new as a drug. Her eyes dropped to her hands, feeling the charge of electricity there and it surprised her so much so that for an instant she snapped out of it.

”Lyric?” she whispered, but he did not answer and the reality of what was happening hit her; Lyric was dying. There was no time between the instant Aurora realized this, and second she reacted … for they were one and the same. A cry of anger and protest rang from her and with it the avalanche she had felt, the thousands of fireworks exploded within her, sent through everything that was in a twenty foot radius and exploded.

The reaction was like a microwave, effects seen without origin and the sensation made her cry out again. It was too much at once, it echoed and boomed – Aurora collapsed to her knees and after a hoarse bellow not her own she lost herself.

It was quiet, and she could hear shallow breathing. To say she awoke was not quite right, but it was the closest comparison. When Aurora was suddenly aware again she was huddled on the floor, Lyrics head in her lap. She was crying, rocking and whispering like a babbling brook. That distant part soothed, then settled into realizing the words and the dread hit her stomach worse than before.

”Please live, please live, please. You are okay, Lyric. Do not die, please … please,” she was begging and repeating. She was utterly oblivious to her surroundings, her whole world in that moment was the life in her lap. ”Please, “ she whispered again before her body slumped over to kiss his bloodied cheek. Tears streamed down her face as she curled herself around his upper body as best she could … rocking siding to side. She had killed him herself. The big man lay on the floor near them and was not moving, but it had happened everywhere whatever it was and that included Lyric. She had killed him and she knew it, but the quiet pleas continued ... a part of her refusing to accept it.

[Lyric Shikov]

He could hear his heart, a wild but steady beat. He could see with strange clarity each time the man drew his fist back; he could see the hair bristling on his bloodied fist and, beyond that, the stained glass of the window, telling a story. 

Jesus' hand was being kissed by Judas. 

That hand of reckoning descended once more. His vision swam and then sharpened. His attacker drew back that hand again. 

Jesus was wearing the crown of thorns. 

Smack. He had heard that wet, meaty smack of flesh against flesh so many times but he had never quite felt it so genuinely. 

Jesus was being crucified. The fist drew back. 

All he saw was electric white. 

This is what death had to feel like. The throb of his wild heartbeat and then a sudden, indomitable deafness. He could not see. He could not feel. He was beyond that pain; he no longer registered punches or kicks, agony or a lack thereof. The white was replaced with black. He was so tired. It was easy to sleep, to die.

Only, Lyric was soon roused by the hysterical pleadings of Aurora. At first he did not recognize her as such; his head ached, his body ached, and he was wondering if he had really made it to heaven after everything he had done... or was this Hell? Perhaps it was nothing, perhaps he was just floating in some sick dream, in some limbo. His thoughts broke off as he opened his dazed eyes, seeing not white but instead Aurora's dark eyes. Was she crying? Lyric's world rocked, his head throbbed. He felt cheated. Denied that ultimate peace, that end. He was momentarily furious, a childish anger that made him want to cry out. But he didn't. His mouth was dry and his face was wet from blood.

It was a shocking image, certainly. His lips, brows, and cheeks were split from the man's rings. His skin was crimson, his eyes a surprising contrast of gold. He felt the bruises in his ribs, the blood everywhere, the pain. He groaned. "Rory... s-stop the r-rocking." He thought he said it in English but, no. It was delivered in slurred, pained Russian. He attempted to lean up but quick abandoned the effort. Things weren't making sense. Why was he not dead? Why was he not being attacked? He gathered his scattered thoughts, trying to piece together these mysteries that shouldn't have been so mysterious. The fact that Rory may have saved him did not cross his mind; he could not fathom it. "What happened?" he inquired, this time in English. He closed his eyes again. The world didn't spin quite so much like that. It still hurt, however.

All Lyric could smell was blood, coppery and metallic.

[AURORA]

The instant he made a noise Aurora stilled, her black hair was like a curtain and when she lifted her body from smothering him she tucked a drape of hair behind an ear. She sniffed, and beamed. He looked awful, but she kissed his forehead sweetly and laughed in a release of tension. He was …

He was alive! His question went unanswered, and Aurora lowered again cover him. She was careful not to lean too much on him, her weightless arms grasping lighting as she hugged him. ”I thought you were gone,” she whispered. He could have said anything and she’d have been grateful for the words. He was alive … it’s what mattered to her.

After a second, a delayed reaction picked up his question and her lashes fluttered to clear her eyes of loss and tears. ”I … I do not know,” she answered honestly. The last thing she really remembered was that feeling …
She pushed it away fiercely in favor of the moment.

There was a noise in the speakeasy, and Aurora hushed, putting her warm fingers to his lips as she listened. After a moment, she realized it could be anyone, or anything … for any reason. Neither of them were at 100% but they needed to get into hiding.

Her black eyes dashed around for answers, but there was nothing. Raising uneasily to her feet, she came around to Lyrics side so that he might see her easier. ”It is not safe. We must move,” before he could answer her she leaned down to plant a decided but gentle kiss to his bloody lips and shuffled back around behind him.

With effort her arms slipped under his and she began (almost impossibly) to drag him across the floor. It was tiring work, though for a normal person it would not have been as hard. Her wings beat at first to assist, until she realized it wafted dust up from all over and that was bad so she stopped. Halfway into the next room she propped against the wall.

There was a noise again, and she was gasping for breath. She did her utmost to keep quiet, and would have prayed if she’d have known how. She desperately hoped whatever the sound was, it was not more bad people to hurt Lyric ... selfishly, she didn't think she could take it.

[Lyric Shikov]

For a moment, she looked like a dark angel, her face pale in contrast to the dark sheet of her hair. He blinked away the image and tried to decide what was happening, although he could not. He continued to go back to the moment of his reckoning, the repetitive blows of the man's fists. He felt the soreness everywhere and in everything. Not a centimeter of his body had been left untouched, unbloodied, unbruised. He said nothing to her, merely nodded, his eyes dazed. It was not Aurora's fault; his mind was still somewhere else, somewhere beyond the pain he was in and beyond the moment he was in, so that even after she had dragged him away from their space he did not know where he was.  

Once she settled him half into the room, Lyric registered what she had said and what she was trying to do. "S-stop," he said and swallowed thickly. He was vaguely annoyed--more than that. He was angry. Not at Aurora so much as at the situation. He hated helplessness. "Jus-st help me up-p." He waited for her to comply, raising his arms with a grimace for her to haul him into a standing position. He attempted to help her as much as he could but the simple fact was that Lyric was now beyond fatigue. He leaned his arm heavily across his shoulders, grimacing at her slight form pressed beneath him. Hunched and broken, he felt as though he should have laid down dead in the carnage behind them. But that was what confused him. Why had they been attacked? Were they rogues or Fulsi or Fallen or both? That was the important part. "Wait," Lyric said, as she began to take him to the back of the chapel. He redirected them toward the doorway and limped in that direction, pausing over one of the survivors--it had been the man with Lyric's knife protruding from his stomach. 

He licked his chapped, bloodied lips and took a moment to think. The man's dark brown eyes were peering up at Lyric miserably and it was clear that he was in pained. Lyric's chest heaved with the effort of walking, with the effort of living, sweat beading at his brow. It hurt. It hurt so much that his teeth were gritted against it; masochistic as Lyric could be, now was not the time or place for it. Nothing was okay about this. His eyes flicked towards the open door but returned quickly to the dying man. "Who are you?" Lyric asked. But he was treated with silence. He curled a lip and used his foot to push the hilt of the knife indelicately; it twisted sideways and the man screamed. 

Once he had regained his breath, Lyric asked the question again. "Who are you?" 

"Wil." Lyric realized that he couldn't have been more than nineteen. That was a shame, it really was, but Lyric did not have time for sympathy. "Why did you attack us?" 

Lyric was treated with silence and defiant stare. He kicked the knife this time, harshly, and it was a long moment before the teenager was able to speak through the pain. He spat the answer through clenched teeth. "You're th-the Carna Delta a-and we are tired of being a-abused b-by your R-Ring." 

"W-what Ring are you a part of?" Zivon Shikov inquired, his voice unsteady. It was taking too much to hold himself up. It was taking too much out of him to be cruel, when he wished he could take the knife back and end this for the child. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. "Fallen," Wil replied. The fight had gone out of him. Lyric hurt too much to be angry, to be sad. He knelt with a sharp gasp and pulled the knife free, jarring his own injuries in the process. Wil was crying, hot and angry tears. "Don't watch, Rory. Please." It was a simple request. He could not bear the idea of her seeing him both at his weakest and worst. The knife was drawn sharp across the kid's throat, a bright red smile. The light went out of his eyes, which Lyric closed after grimacing. 

It was a damn shame. It really was. 

"In the Speakeasy, the basement, there's a room behind the bar. It's under the wood floor and it was where they stored alcohol. Let's go there." He rose and winced, his arm going around her shoulder again. He was hearing the noise, too; maybe it was the wind or maybe it was the promise of new dangers. Either way, Lyric knew that he was too weak to defend himself. 

[AURORA]

Sadly Lost forever because Fe is a Moron when lazily stealing code from herself.

[Lyric Shikov]

Lyric was far from selfless but he was, for once, aware of the fact that for each step he took Aurora also took a pained one, burden with his weight. He attempted to keep the brunt of it off of her, limping heavily as a result; by the time they reached the stairs he was unable to do so. He had to lean on her or else fall--it wouldn't have been so difficult if not for her slight frame and her bird-bones. When the two of them collapsed at the bottom, a part of him felt that same weariness. It would be so easy to lay down and give up. Rory would not allow it and Lyric knew this, despite the fact he grimaced each time he heard her labored breathing. He lay on the dirty cellar floor, staring into blackness, trying to reorganize his thoughts. It had hurt. His everything hurt, a constant throb that he was reminded of whenever his heart beat. Almost there. 

His calloused hand gripped hers. With her help, he continued to walk. 

They made it to the door with some difficulty. Lyric removed his arm from her shoulders and collapsed onto hands and knees, groping in the dark to find the latch that he knew was there--with some difficult he managed to pull it up, his breath catching when he stretched the long wound on his stomach. He clutched it with his free hand, feeling nauseous. "I am s-sorry," Lyric told her. He was supposed to help and protect her, but how could he do that when he was now struggling to lower himself into the trap door? He did so, eventually, and found himself collapsing in a heap at the bottom, waiting for her to follow. His head was pressed against his curled knees, his hand bloodied from his heavily bleeding abdomen.

Once he heard her feet land in the dark, he opened his eyes. It was the color of pitch, however. He could see nothing. "T-there should be a lantern, an electric one, in the corner." At least, there had been the last time Lyric had been there with a group of Carna.

If there was one good thing about the situation, it was that the hidden room had a surplus of vodka and rotgut liquor. He reached behind him, against the wine rack he leaned against, feeling for a bottle. He eventually pulled one free, although with some difficulty, and took a long drink of it. The burn was nothing compared to everything else he was experiencing. "I am sorry," he repeated, feeling guilty and downtrodden.

He could not stop remembering the boy's angry tears. He could not stop thinking of the way Rory had struggled beneath his weight, too much for her to bear. She possessed a courage and resilience Lyric did not think her capable of. His tender, delicate Rory was taking care of him? His head lolled back against the rack, his eyes heavily lidded. The world felt upside-down. 

[AURORA]

Weariness had crept frigidly into every crevice of Aurora’s makeup and seemed content to settle and weigh her down until even blinking felt too difficult. When they reached the door Lyric lowered painfully to the ground to open the latch, and all but fell straight down to the dank quiet.

The back of Aurora’s throat was strained to keep from sobbing, the shallow breaths she now took almost wheezed from her lungs with the effort. The words he said passed by her unnoticed, and once into the safety of darkness she shut the doors and lowered herself unsteadily to the ground. She wanted to cry, to curl in on herself and let it all go. Distantly, her eyes fell on Lyric (in much the same condition) and her labored breath caught. The light was scarce, but her large eyes and sharp eyesight lent a low-lighted scene of twilight instead of utter darkness most saw, and her ears belatedly caught lantern and corner.

She did not want to move, she did not want to seek the light; she wanted to sleep for a hundred years and wake up somewhere that was not here. For the first time, really and truly for the first time she missed her luxurious captive life in England. Where she was told what she would do each day, and was forbidden to eat dairy less it ruin her voice. That didn’t sound so bad just now, with her lace trim nightgown, her maids and the shows with the sparkly jewels around her neck. She loved how they shined-

The dim light glinted from the bottle that Lyric raised to his lips, and she shook her head to clear her thoughts. Instantly they were gone, and she shuffled across the floor to the corner where indeed a lantern sat in waiting. Her hands reached for it and everything slowed … those pulses. As her fingers hit the ignition the pulses danced erratically, she could feel the culmination gather and she gasped as all at once the entire lantern popped and blew. The explosion was minor, but left them without a lantern.

Sorry, so sorry. she wanted to say but could not find the words. It was quiet a moment and Aurora’s gaze had landed back on Lyric. He was a mess and she had no idea what to do. He needed things, like when he had patched her up … without her own notice she had begun to slide across the floor to Lyric. Time was not with her, and when the apology she had thought of had come from his lips she reflected on that look. She had never seen that look on Lyrics face, it was … What? That second before she had lost control over whatever condition it was that now tormented her ruptured from her savagely.

There was something she hand to do. In the darkness she crawled slowly, her ragged breathes and shuffling the only noise until she came upon Lyric. Her hands reached out to him, and as his free hand found hers she moved it away in favor of her own way. Leaning close her hands traveled up his chest to his neck, then his chin to his lips … then his cheek. She paused a moment in perfect stillness her slim cool fingers laying across the bruised skin.

CRACK. without warning her open hand had slapped him soundly across the face. The noise penetrated the quiet like a shot in the dark, and all was still once more. That look on his face … it reflected in her mind’s eye and knew what it was now. It was acceptance; acceptance in the face of death. It had taken her a long time to realize some things about her Lyric, ideas that crept into her naive mind with a dark and sharp intelligence that she so badly wanted to ignore, but this she could not. She could take anything from him, anything but that.

”How could you?” she demanded almost inaudibly. Her hands balled into fists, her jaw set. She was ... she was .... mad. ”How could you?”

[KRISSLEE]

He was outside of himself, beyond rage or regret or even exhaustion. He was reminded inexplicably of Lesta's rings. The darkness, the pain, and the smell of blood were all the same. The difference was simply that here there was no noise, no encouragement, just his thoughts and Rory and the darkness. He looked toward her, her movement audible in the dark, but it was a mistake on his part. The explosion of the lantern was a bright burst like lightening against his eyes. After that, there was nothing. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

He heard her moving in the darkness. His stiff shoulders relaxed, his face tilted up. He felt the gentle pressure of her hands against his chest and then his neck, steadily rising. He expected a kiss or a quiet apology but neither came. 

Crack! 

It was audible, jarring his head sideways. The pain was sharp and abrupt and his immediate reaction was to retaliate; he stilled himself before he could rise a hand to strike out, before he could hurt her. What remained was a sense of bewilderment and, above that, rage. Lyric could remember a time when his mother had slapped him like that, when she had looked him in the eyes and hit him.

He was too stunned to speak. He was too stunned to move. He felt like an idiot, his jaw slack, rage beginning to bubble inside of him. How could you? How could he what? The only thing that Lyric could think of was the teenager, how she'd looked away a second too late. He had not spared her of the mental image, of the scarring, but how was that his fault? Lyric had put him out of his misery, for Christ's sake! His lip lifted in a harsh sneer, his tawny eyes flicking in the direction where he assumed Aurora was. He was treated only to an eyeful of darkness, darkness that seemed to go on for days. 

Lyric could not remember the last time that he had been so angry. "I did what I had to do," he replied, shortly, through gritted teeth. He didn't have time for this shit. He snorted out a derisive sound and began to rip into his shirt, procuring tattered cloth to use to bind his stomach wound. The vodka would have to do for now, as a disinfectant. He splashed it over his abdomen and bit his own lip so hard that it bled to keep from crying out. His eyes watered but, most of all, his cheek smarted. 

She had slapped him. His Rory had slapped him. 

[AURORA]

Her heart raced. I did what I had to, he uttered quietly. Coldly. It made no sense to her. He was fidgeting with something, but her jet eyes remained on his face. The last half hour had been rigorous and stressful and the last of her strength left her. She half collapsed to the floor. Her wings trembled, the pain in her wrist sharp … an inner part of her cried out that she would ever lay a hand on Lyric, and she struggled to keep the thoughts straight in her head. Her free hand (that still stung from the slap) lifted to her hair and she pushed back the dark tendrils from her face and licked her lips.

She could feel the anger rearing from him like a title wave, but it washed over her like the waters on the beach. Aurora closed her eyes then, hot tears trailing down her cheek and she took the first full lungful of breath since they’d dashed into the building. Out of nowhere, an answer to a question she did not ask came to her and she turned to him.

”You were going to leave,” she said tonelessly. ”and never come back.” Fear crept into the last three words. It was different to her. If he’d told her to go away forever and stay in Nakoma, she would do it. If he’d ever told her he never wanted to see her again … it would break her heart but still she would do it. This was different and realizing all of it hit her like a bucket of freezing water.

”Never.” The finality of it … she could not forgive him for that, for giving up.
There was so much about the ways of the world and people, especially about their natures that she had no experience with … and what was more she had been slowly learning that Lyric was indeed distinct. It was a complex concept that Aurora struggled with, because through the center there was a perfect clarity. Suddenly it was altogether too much of an overload and she took another deep shuttering breath, then forced herself to sit back up. The least she could do was help. Ripping a strip from her own shirt she took the bottle from his hand and wet the material before dabbing the blood from his face ever so gently. Handing the bottle back to him she sniffed and swallowed hard, doing her best not to start crying again. She looked down at Lyric’s angry face ... she wanted to very badly, and she was grateful for the darkness because he could not see her face.

It was astonishing in a way, that she’d have the gall to right out slap him then return to his able proximity willingly. Though she was aware of how dangerous he was, it never occurred to her to fear him – or mistrust him and so she wiped and dabbed in silence for long moments.

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[Lyric Shikov]

He hoped that she was hurt, that she was crying, for that slap had alienated him from her. He no longer knew what to expect from his tender Rory, who never grew short or frustrated with him. It stung but it was not the most painful thing he had experienced; it was simply what it meant. He could have expected such a thing from anybody else, but not from Aurora. He raised a hand gingerly to his face, feeling where her hand had lain. You were going to leave, she said, in a voice that he had never heard before. Lyric still did not understand. He wasn't going to leave. He hadn't left. He had fought to protect her and this was how she repaid him--with accusations! And never come back.

He had always come back. Always. Days or weeks or months had passed between, but he had always come back. Even when she had been in Fallen. He had found her. Had he not proved his loyalty, his dedication? He grimaced when she came toward him through the dark, his shoulders pressed hard against the cabinet behind him. The bottles rattled, his brows furrowed, but she continued on dutifully. Lyric did not relax. He remained taunt, unfamiliar with the girl before him. He had never seen his Rory angry; never. It was one of the things he had grown to love about her; where he would grow either dispassionate or completely wrathful, she remained calm and consistent, naively loving a monster.

The silence allowed him to think. You were going to leave. 

It suddenly clicked, everything that she had said. He could remember. He could remember laying there, death on the horizon, fully welcoming the angel of reckoning. He would have embraced him, in fact. She was mad at him, because he had given up. Lyric was indignant in the face of this realization. It was unfair! After everything, after all of the fight he had given, he could not just lay to rest? Was he meant to suffer more, give more, do more before he was allowed such a privilege? His mind and body both were fatigued, made raw by pain. Lyric wondered why people had to be noble, why they had to fight until their last breath. 

"I am tired, moy golubushka." Lyric had never been one to spare people their feelings, but he did so now. Had Aurora been anyone else, he would have confessed that he simply didn't care about life anymore. It was what made him a good and bad fighter; his reckless abandon empowered him and he knew it. Whereas many feared death, he did not. Leena would say that I sound like a bitter old man, Lyric thought. "I am so, so tired. All the time. Every day. What I do is not good enough, what I get is not good enough. I live life like an empty man." Because I am an empty man.

What was there to Lyric Shikov? A deceptive smile, a deceptive anger, a deceptive word. He could love and fight and pretend to care but at the end of the day he was a man going through the motions. He had learned, time and time again, that it hurt too much to give a damn. What about Rory? he wondered. I care about her. Or did he? Had he not been prepared to leave her just mere moments ago? He closed his eyes and let her tend to him, realizing how selfless love was and how selfish he was. Maybe he was, as Leena had told him once, incapable of feeling such a thing... Or perhaps he could feel it. He just could not understand. 

[AURORA]

Her small, delicate hands paused in their tending and slowly lowered to her lap. She was still for a moment in thought. Lyric was tired … at first she had thought to suggest he sleep, but when he continued speaking his tone suggested a greater meaning. Aurora reflected on his words to puzzle out what he meant. Her hand still stung and in the darkness her large black eyes could make out the blood on her palm.

The strange pulses were persistent in background of her senses she noticed distantly, akin to the murmur of spring crickets. Easy to ignore, but forever constant. As often irritating as they were soothing. I live life like an empty man, those words dishearten her, and she bit her lip. Once, Aurora would have shook her head and named as many organs and bones as she could remember, but time outside of her old life had schooled her, and people did not always mean things so literally.
Still ..

Slowly, her wings folded and pulling her long hair from her way she lowered her head to his shoulder and rested it there gingerly. Her eyes closed as her ear picked up his erratic heartbeats. It soothed her, he soothed her simply by existing. Her body rose to gaze at him.

”You are like the Tin Man,” her soft voice whispered in the dark, somewhere between discovery and fondness. When she had read a book series about a magical land called, Oz she had often felt much sorrow for him. The witch had cast a spell upon his ax and as he lost limb after limb he replaced each with tin until he was no longer made of flesh. Tragically, he was never made a heart and could no longer feel love for the girl he had fallen for. Thus he quests with Dorothy to see the Wizard and ask for a heart, believing he cannot feel without one. Aurora always thought he was one of the most tender and caring characters in the stories.

Her fingers lifted to Lyrics face to hover over where she had slapped him. The anger she felt was utterly gone – snuffed out like the flame of a candle, and replaced by sadness. Sadness and guilt. Her palm lay on his other cheek, her thumb brushing his bottom lip affectionately. ”You are more than you know. For you would not feel such weariness in your bones if not for the courage you have extended. Nor would you feel so empty if you had not given your heart away piece by piece.”

She rose to her knees then slowly and delicately placed a kiss to his lips, as softly as a prayer. She needed him...
All at once she began to tremble. She realized for the first time that she …

”I am so sorry Lyric,” her tone changed to that of someone who had damned their only friend. Her demeanor remained relaxed, her voice the only tell that she was so disturbed. ”I am sorry that I am so selfish,” she rasped out and took his hand to kiss his palm and gingerly worry over his cracked and bloody knuckles before setting her cheekbone to the back of his hand, the only patch of skin she could find uninjured. ”I would take you in any condition, rather than not have you at all.” she spoke the words quietly but ardently.

The grave understanding that she had robbed him after he had done so much weighed heavily on her, but the knowledge … the undeniable fact that she would not change the past if given the chance weighed heavier.

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[Lyric Shikov]

It always came back to her simplicity, as bitter as it may have been for him to listen to. Lyric had grown up around politics and rich people; stereotypes were often over-exaggerated, but not among his family. He remembered what it meant to say everything but what he meant to say and it had never, ever been like that with Aurora. His lips curved in the darkness, the shape of a smile even though it did not necessarily feel like one. He was humorless because, yet again, she had him figured out. Zivon Shikov was the Tin Man, although he had never heard it put into such simple words. When she reached toward him, it was gently. Lyric flinched beneath her caress, regardless. He did not trust her; he did not know her. That was what he tried to remind himself of. 

Someone who slaps you, who hurts you, they always do it again. 

He waited for it now, with gritted teeth. She would say something horrible in the face of his blatant honesty, just like everyone else. He was the Tin Man, the punchline of some sick joke, just waiting for it. 

Only this was Aurora; she was not like anyone else he had ever met. His eyes closed when she spoke, when he realized that she was no longer angry with him. That did not mean she would be furious again in the future but a quiet, quiet voice was lulling Lyric into a state of contentment. Her touch was so soft, so gentle, her thumb cool against his lip. In that second, Lyric hated himself for how easily his anger faded away. ”You are more than you know. For you would not feel such weariness in your bones if not for the courage you have extended."

Lyric was quiet. He did not know what to say to that, much less what followed. She kissed him before he could reply, regardless, and he was left to wonder. Was that the truth of it? Had he ever been brave? He did not think so. He did not think that courage was something that came hand-in-hand with his name. 

When he replied to her, it was barely audible. "Do not apologize, moy golubushka. You have never been the selfish one between the two of us." His eyes were hot with un-shed tears. She made him realize just what he lacked, just how much he did not deserve her; and it saddened him. Once, there had been a courageous young man inside of him. Once, there had been a lover and a fighter. He remembered, albeit vaguely, what it had been like to be so passionate that the flame had devoured itself. 

"You speak so highly of me and I do not deserve it." He turned his hand into her cheek, then, harboring the knowledge that he was streaking blood across her pristine face. Lyric Shikov dirtied everything that he touched, after all. He leaned forward despite the pain it caused him to kiss her brow. "Do not give your heart away, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of it, Rory." Her own words, turned back at her, about him. It was all unbearable but he knew that she ought to have something better than the likes of him, who was so willing to be defeated. Lyric had been cursed with hope, however. He had drunk from the bitter waters of love and learned that he could not live without it; she was an addiction and, even after she had turned on him, Lyric knew that he needed her. 

"But I do hope, moy golubushka, that you will take what is left of mine." He was not worth it but he said it regardless. He would hurt her; he could not help it. He hoped that her kindness would not be snubbed out as he had been, so many years ago. He hoped that she, in her essence and her naivety, would never be forced to confront her own emptiness. Lyric knew better than most just how the world could ruin a man or woman. His lips found hers in the darkness, then, tenderly, apologetically.

Tragically. 

[AURORA]

He kissed her, but all of her wanted more. Her arms wrapped around his neck and heated breaths were exchanged before the shudders of exhaustion from an overtaxed and pained Lyric reminded her how much he needed rest. Her kisses were quelling then, and she kissed his eyelids before painfully pushing herself to her feet and fought to stand.

She could smell the blood, and it was not stopping. She needed medicine to make him feel better, and he could not leave. After Lyric practically argued with himself, Aurora struggled towards the door. Though tired, she was not injured save overworked muscles, bumps, and bruises. However, if she did not get Lyric what he needed ...

Aurora pushed the thought away. How many times had Lyric left her to get medicine? Wraps? Things that made her feel better and let her live. ”I am going,” she said in resolution, but she could feel his anxiety and she could not help but turn back. Her jaw set in a very un-Rory like fashion, something she’d seen a friend do and she smiled.

”I will be back. I promise,” and Aurora wouldn’t have known how to break a promise. She turned and hefted the door open, closed it behind her, and vanished.

It was a day, a night, and another full day before the door moved.
The adventure Aurora had gone through to retrieve what was needed, she could never retell. She had been so frightened and tired… the expression she saw on Lyrics face was not one she had seen before and she stumbled with the heavy bag. Inside was medicine, a bit of food, a flask of water, and a few other things.

Her face had gone white, her dirty cheeks baring the tracks of tears in the dying light. Her breaths came in quick pants. One of her wing joints was swollen, thus she carried it at an awkward angle as she hobbled on two feet, one arm, and a wing to get the bag to Lyric.

Setting the bag beside him, her eyes searched him…

”It’s dead,” the old, grisly voice had commented. In the snow in England, Aurora had stopped between apartment and car to lift the lifeless body of a sparrow … her mind had tormented her the entire sojourn that it would be Lyric if she were not quick enough. Somehow, somehow – he was still alive.

The bag dropped to the ground a second before she did, and she pushed the bag one handed toward Lyric. She stopped only when her hand reached the nearest part of him – his thigh, and she curled onto it for a pillow. Her words murmured inaudibly over and over from a voice long absent. The moment she’d touched him, she’d all but fallen unconscious.

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