Marc carried Eleanor inside of the Cullen house and sat with her in his lap on the sofa. His attitude towards her was paternal, well-meaning, and so I didn't protest as he cared for her. She was way too thin, with most of her bones visible. She was wrapped awkwardly in the dripping white cloth that was stained red from blood. Marc pulled a throw blanket from the back of the sofa and exchanged the dripping white cloth for the blanket. Esme took the white and red cloth and disposed of it. Dr. Cullen moved closer to Eleanor to examine her.

"Eleanor, I'm just going to check over your injuries..." he explained as he touched her previously injured arm. She shivered at his touch but remained emotionless, noiseless, and still on Marc's lap. "Remarkable," Dr. Cullen breathed. "It's healed."

"Of course it is," Marc replied matter-of-factly. "You watched the spell."

"To see it work is still stunning," Dr. Cullen said breathlessly. "There's nothing but a scar."

"Eleanor," Marc said quietly. "What do you need?"

I noticed that he didn't ask if she was okay, or if she was hurting. I could bet money on the answers to those questions. He asked her what she needed because it wasn't obvious to anyone. Did she need a bath? Did she need food? Did she need me?

Her soft gray eyes were empty, and barely visible through her dripping dark hair. She didn't answer. Marc looked at me, back at her, and to me again.

"Do you want to try?" he asked me. I wiped my hands nervously on my cutoffs and settled on the sofa next to him. He gingerly handed her over to me, and upon contact with me, Eleanor leaned into my touch. Sitting on my lap, she fell into my arms and curled up under my chin.

She was too tiny, too pale, and seemed like she would disappear any moment. It reminded me of finally finding her in that murky dream forest, she felt like a slip of herself. It was enough for me, though, and my soul finally felt content holding her in my arms. The burning in my chest finally eased.

We sat, just us, for what felt like forever. Though I craved her voice and her words, her touch was enough for me. The aching, gnawing need for her had dissipated with her presence. I was finally able to devote brain activity to thoughts other than her, though with her in my lap, all thoughts related back to her in some way or another. I was getting hungry myself, and a little stiff, but she had fallen asleep and I didn't dare disturb her. Instead I concentrated on the sound of her heartbeat, the feel of her breaths in her chest against mine, and the exquisite sight of her. I ran my fingers through her tangled, matted hair and let my fingers wander down her back, gently brushing my fingers along her skin.

She woke with a start after a few hours. I had dozed myself, and her jolting in my lap had me on red-alert.

"Paul?" she whispered, her voice broken. Her soft gray eyes roamed, lost. "Where am I?"

"We're at the Cullens' house," I told her softly. I could see the panic forming on her face, the hysteria bubbling to the surface with every gasping breath.

"I. Can't. See."

"What?" I asked, confused. I grabbed her face and forced her eyes to look at mine. They roamed, unfocused and manic.

"I can't see," she moaned, crying.

"Eleanor," Dr. Fang said quietly, at our side immediately. His voice was calm, soothing, but Eleanor was not easily calmed. "Could you see me earlier, when I checked over you?"

"No," she moaned, scratching at her eyes. "What's happened to me? Where's Nana?"

"Eleanor," Marc said firmly. His voice shook her like a leaf. She shuddered, then quieted. "Rhea is dead. You know that. Feel it."

"I don't want - ," she moaned. He cut her off, taking her shoulders and shaking her.

"They're dead. Let it in," he told her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Let it in," he repeated. Eleanor shook her head, crying, sobbing, shaking.

"No," she moaned. "No."

"You burn them at sundown. They're dead." Marc's intense eyes were focused on Eleanor's. Her body shook in my lap, her skin warmed under my touch - so warm, that it felt as if it was burning me. My eyes found her shoulder, and her black mark was smoky looking, swirling on her shoulder. The mark itself didn't move, but the color swirled in the confines of the lines. Eleanor choked, and Marc's eyes widened. Eleanor's eyes were churning, the smoky look of her mark mirrored in her eyes.

"Should have let me die," she whispered.

Right before she burst into flames.