The world splits apart and the air is charged with electricity. There is screaming and crying and begging and all of it is drowned out by terrible laughter. The smile is so wide and the air is white with ash and no one will be able to save them-

Lucretia opens her eyes.

Her curtains are purple.

She closes her eyes again.

A grin too wide for the world. A craving that consumes.

Her eyelids are so heavy. Her limbs are lead. She can barely move. Lucretia listens to the airflow from the vent in the far right corner of her room and wishes she could freeze forever. It would be nice to simply stop. Encased in ice, she'd never feel a thing again.

How many days left?

She doesn't know. She's not sure. Maybe thirteen?

You should get up. You should find out how long you've been asleep.

Lucretia tries to move. She fails. The backs of her eyelids are so dark and so kind.

Laughter that sounds like screaming.

Lucretia forces her eyes open. She's laying on her side, her back to the door. The sun is slanting in through the window at a low angle; it must be some time in the late afternoon. She didn't realize she needed to sleep this badly.

These days it feels like she can't ever sleep. What changed today?

"Taako," Lucretia croaks on instinct. But she's alone; no one answers her.

Her throat is too dry; it feels like the surface of a sand dune, cracked and rough. There's a glass of water that wasn't there before on her bedside table. Someone must have left it there for her. But her arms are still weighed down, Lucretia can't seem to stop herself from being magnetized to the mattress, and so she doesn't bother reaching for it. The discomfort will go away eventually. Probably.

You have to work today.

"I know, I know."

But even speaking costs so much energy. She blinks. The curtains are dirty. Her room is dirty. She should clean it. She should move. She should do something.

So why don't you?

She shrugs one shoulder, the most movement she can manage. Lucretia doesn't know. She just can't.

The pillow is sticky with her sweat. Or maybe it's tears; sometimes she cries in her sleep nowadays. It's weird. Her cheek is glued to the pillowcase. These blankets are stiflingly hot. She's quite uncomfortable.

But it's so much easier to lay here and contemplate her curtains.

Time passes slow as molasses. Maybe she sleeps again. She's not sure. Lucretia isn't sure of much right now. That's bad, she thinks.

The door clicks softly as it opens. No one comes in here but Lucretia. She's a very private person, you know. But there are soft footsteps muted by her carpet, so someone is in here with her. Huh. That's strange. That doesn't happen.

It's almost enough to get her to move. Almost. Lucretia's very tired.

"Hey," says a voice that is trying very hard not to be loud. It's okay, she wants to say, you can shout if you want. I know you want to. I know you have a lot to say to me. It's okay.

Maybe this is it.

It makes the voice in the back of her head- the one that tells Lucretia how to get up in the morning and how to go on living despite the fact Lucretia's chest has been hollowed out like a jack-o-lantern- happy, so that thought must be good. This is it. This is the end. Isn't it? It must be. Her shoulders relax.

"Oh good, you're awake." Says Taako. He sounds off somehow and that more than anything makes Lucretia turn her head. She can only manage about a quarter of the way, but it's something. It's more than she thought she was capable of.

He's leaning over her now, hip braced against the edge of her mattress. She can just see him out of the corner of her eye. His hand raises, hesitates-

This is it, this is the end!

But no spell comes. His fingers light on her throat, but don't curl around it and squeeze. Lucretia is- confused, maybe. It's hard to tell with all this fog in her brain.

"Hm." He pulls away. "Your pulse is slow. Like, worryingly slow, my dude. You okay? Not bleeding out on me, are you? Open up your stitches?"

Her arm is healed up now from whatever salve the orc put on it this morning. Her stitches will come out this evening, probably, or melt right into her skin when it finishes knitting together. Her clerics are the best of the best, after all.

Lucretia manages to shake her head. Taako hums. It's nice. He has a nice voice. She forgot about that. She's glad he's here. That's probably selfish of her.

"I made you some soup."

What?

What?

Lucretia really wishes she could see his face right now but Taako doesn't move around to look at her and she's still composed of solid stone, unable to turn and look. Lucretia isn't sure if that makes this easier or harder.

"Do you think you could eat?"

Sitting up? Going to the kitchen? Lifting the spoon to her lips, swallowing, spooning up more soup, lifting the utensil to her mouth again? Gods, evening imagining the process makes her tired.

She turns her head back to the curtains. She's not sure why she's so exhausted all of a sudden. She's been doing fine recently, all things considered. She has a lot of work to do; there's no time for silly things like tiredness. So why can't she move right now?

The voice in her head is screaming at her that she needs to get up and get to work but it's small and tinny and far away. The fog is obscuring it. It's sort of a relief, if Lucretia is honest with herself.

"I'll take that as a no, then." His voice is wry, a little sour. She doesn't want to hurt him again. It's enough that he hates her already. It's enough.

Someone is making this pathetic little whining noise in the back of their throat. Lucretia wishes they would stop. Taako's hand lands on her again and wow, no one has touched her in- in-

She's not sure. It's hard to think. Taako rubs soothing circles into her back. Why is he doing that?

"It's okay," Taako says, and it is. Isn't it? "That's okay, you don't have to get up yet. You just- you just rest now, okay?"

His voice just broke. It's not okay.

What's not okay?

Me, I think, Lucretia replies, and only just realizes the truth of it when she does. Huh.

Taako slips out as quietly as he entered. He leaves the door open just a crack; she can tell because the latch doesn't click shut.

Lucretia stares straight ahead.

Her curtains are purple.