It was probably the most painful existance she had ever came to live, though it seemed over the past few weeks, it hadn't spread that far. For that she was grateful, but it left the Doctors in wonder, how could she hold it off so well? Well, Hecate was trying to prolounge her own suffering, memories of that man kept appearing and forcing her to remember the more painful memories of her own existance. She was doing her best to keep others unaware of the pain she was pushing onto herself, Grell had done her damnest to make Hecate comfortable, trying to find a way to get a cure. Hecate had stopped her short though, demanding that she'd be treated as if this never happened. After a few attempts, Grell gave up and just gave the woman glances of sorrow, which Hecate pointedly ignored.
That is until one raining day, the pain was particularly bad today, her legs felt as if someone was ripping off the flesh from bone, in truth. With no where else to turn, she had called in sick, thrown on her old dress and cloak, and headed to Undertakers. That had been the most painful, because she had to split the realms apart by hand, it made concentrating hard and the pain a bit worse. Stumbling into the other realm, Hecate threw her hood up and used the walls as a crutch, rain splattering her clothes and skin, soaking her to the bone. It felt amazing on her legs, until the rain dropped her tempeture to it's level. Looking up to the sign that hung over his shop, shinigami green eyes had begun to fill with tears. She couldn't keep it a secret for very long, one other person had to know..someone who lived longer than William and Grell, who could actually help; did she want to be saved so badly? A sick churning turned her stomach over, no, she was just to selfish to die alone.
The door was pushed open, a jingle over her head was the only thing heard before the pain became to unbearable and she fell face first into the floor. Panting heavily, tears mixed with the rain water, her legs had given out. Snarling heavily, she pushed herself back to her hands and knees, glasses falling to the floor as she temporarily became blinded. It was Damien's glasses she wore, grey nails dug into the floor as she bit back the pain of not only her legs, but her mind trying to bring back another memory. "D-...Demitru.." It was a hoarse and pitiful call for help, just as she felt right now. Pitiful.
The bell was what first caught his attention. The Silver Reaper sat in his back study, all bodies prepared and placed to wait for their final day. Raising a brow in slight contemplation of who would visit in such weather, and at such a time; the Undertaker blinked at the thud. Once again this is one example of the Legend being perhaps...a bit too relaxed in his home. He didn't reach out his senses in order to identify the specie.
Though in his mind, he was /far/ too old to be worrying about the creatures that couldn't /ooze/ their aura. So he was completely taken off-guard when the prone form of Hecate met his vision. This surprise caused an instinctual snap back to the mentality of a General. "Hecate...! What has happened?" Gone was the tittering tone of mirth, replaced by one of concern and terse authority.
Scanning over her frame with an aura that she would be able to feel, he stopped once he encountered her legs. "..." The stress leeched from his frame, and his hidden gaze softened. "Ipsa mors perveniret ad asserendum quod iuste possidet..." Narrowing his eyes, he shifted the force in which he scanned, and attempted to do as he did for Alan Humphries, the young man that still walked, after several years with this condition.
To bind the Thorns. "Sed neque mors vitam, ita augeri potest capere capiat. Sit teneantur, usque dum fit remotio..." It wasn't a hundred percent guarantee to work...yet the Silver Mortician had done it plenty of times before...
All too soon, he was by her side, but the pain was simply to much for her to continue talking through. It was spreading up her front, trying so desperately to reach her heart and kill her right then and there. Aura shifting from one of pain to panic, she felt her magic shift to protect her body when another form of magic pressed along her legs, controlling the Thorns as a deep voice vibrated her ear drums. It was Demitru, speaking in Latin that she knew all to well. Tears formed in her eyes once more, how could she tell him to stop and just let her die? It would be to hard to explain, the memories that had been blocked from before had come up once again, the blood shed and the screams of agony; then it all faded away as if a bad dream.
Falling to the side he was at, Hecate twitched, attempting not to sob. She reached out for the glasses that had fallen, and instead of putting them on, simply clutched them to her chest. Her green-yellow eyes gave a glow, an obvious trait when she was performing her own set of magic, the frames had cracked at the fall until her hand clutched them; a veil of grey surrounding the glass and repairing the damage that had been done. It was a simply trick of magic, one she had re-learned quickly. Breathing coming in more steady now, she looked up to Demitru with the eyes that had been hidden behind a shield of stone.
A broken smile lifted her lips up slightly as she felt a pitiful giggle escape her lips, is this what cracked Demitru? No, he wasn't cracked, she was; a cracked and broken doll. Another giggle passed, "Thorns..of Death.." Another giggle, and she felt a laugh bubble in her chest, what was so funny was the simply fact that she had given in just before her ultimiate death; prolounged her own suffering by coming to a man who she idolized. How hilariously sad could it possibly get?
Reaching forward with an amazingly sad smile for the normally giddy visage; Demitru wiped away the tears that streamed down her face with the side of his index finger. His own dual-toned hues remained on the glow whilst she completed her magic. "...Where?" It was an almost stupidly short and vague question, but he was sure she would catch that he asked where she got the Thorns.
The broken smile caused his heart to break.
No...none could follow the path he had taken. To balance between sanity and it's opposite. A task that Death had been more than happy to give him. So that the Silver Reaper would know sympathy.
Her laughter held no mirth. To him, the notes resounded with utter agony, and it took only several minutes before he could no longer listen. Standing, he scooped her close to his chest, and pressed his lips to her forehead. Not only was this an action to gauge if she had a fever, but...something that he previously thought impossible.
He truly worried, and cared. He genuinely wished to comfort.
Why did it hurt so much? The pain in her legs was almost gone, she just felt the unbearable guilt and agony rest on her shattered heart. As he asked where, she found it almost stupid to even ask, though she obeyed in showing him where exactly it was. Lifting the dress she wore, the iconic scars wrapped around her legs in a vine line manner, trailing up to her stomach. Though she did not show him that much, only up to her thighs before she released the fabric between her fingers. The smile remained, though the laughter was silenced by him bringing her into a hug. She was surprised to find his lips pressing against her forehead in comfort, though that was the final straw to break her.
She began crying, clutching to his front and curling into him as if he were her own pillar. Her soak frame shook with each uncontrollable sob, and it seemed that Hecate had lost herself in the emotions she tried so hard to hold back, the anger shown through her clutching to him, the sorrow in her tears, the guilt in her own pain, and the agony through her weak and bubbled gasps for breath. There was one thought that kept repeating, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hold it back from passing between her lips. "I don't want to die." She deserved something far worse than death in her eyes, and that was to live in suffering until she saw that she had been redeemed from her own sins.
"I don't want to die."
Gazing to the scars that looked so much like his own, his frown couldn't be restrained. It didn't take a genius to figure that the thorns now wrapped around to her abdomen. The next question he had, he couldn't ask. For before he could walk down the hall to a less...public area, she clutched to him tightly enough that he could feel his shoulder seams dig in.
Sliding down the wall that separated the coffin room from the hallway, he re-adjusted so she lay half in his lap, and half upon his chest. Lithe fingers combed gently through raven locks. Until she spoke, he would simply give silence. This was no time for jokes, and even if it was; his brain was locked into the 'Serious Setting'.
And then, he desperate statement. "...as long as I can help, you will not be killed by this...curse." That is what it truly was. A curse Death gave to the reapers in a time when the Earth was infantile. The first test subject of this torturous disease? Demitru himself. He wasn't cured...that much was obvious. He had simply endured it in it's entirety.
"It's going to be alright..." Another kiss to her forehead. This one, of pure intention to comfort.
The words that came forth from his lips sounded desperate, causing her sorrow to lessen as confusion settled in. How could he help her from something this serious? This was the end for most, if not all reapers; well, except the man clutching her currently. He somehow lived with it, the scars on her body she recognized from the one on his pinkie finger from their first meeting. Oh how long ago that felt compared to now, if she weren't infected, surely this feeling of having a man hold her would cause a deep crimson blush to rise to her cheeks and cause a stutter. Instead, her face flushed with the blood rushing to her features from her crying so hard; which had quietened to sniffles and choked whimpers. Keeping her forehead to his chest, she allowed the feeling of fingers running through her hair to relax her frame, the dress riding up once more to reveal the scars. There was one thing to be taken care of though, she couldn't let the others know of this disease.
Looking up to him, she looked pitifully beautiful, her cheeks flushed with life as hair stuck to the sides of her face; her lips, once blue from the cold, finally turning a flush pink had been pulled into a tiny smile of apology, though it wouldn't be known as to why until the words fell from her lips. "Please..." Eyes framing the rampent emotions, sorrow, guilt, admiration and the fading love of a dying girl; "Please don't tell anyone, please keep this a secret." Relaxing an iron grip from his front, she lifted her torso slightly to look him straight in the face. "Promise me you'll keep it a secret, Demitru." He wanted to be treated as an equal, she'd treat him as such. Her drying frame still had the dress clinging to her, water dripping off the ends of her hair and face. Mayhaps this is why Hecate knew she looked nothing like William, nor acted like him, she knew of the emotions lying just beneath the skin of her subconscious; and knew just how beautiful she truly was.
The middle right talon that tipped his finger gently brushed away a stray hair that fell in her face. "...The Council knows not why I am the way I am...if you wish it kept secret, it will be so." He was referring to his scars. Not a soul alive in the Dispatch knew where they came from. Most speculated a daemonic attack.
Smiling once more, his hidden hues glittered in sympathy, and a desire to help rid her of her pain. "...Pardon my blunt and probably repetative observation...but you, my dear, are beautiful..." T'would be a shame if she were lost. Yet that never left his lips. He would be content with her in his lap, and most likely, the shoppe would open late the next day.