Melodias woke in his room in the Boar's Hat. He gulped, desperately trying to lift himself off the ground. No luck. Hands were pinning him down... fear spiked through him. He instinctively ducked under the covers and hid, trembling. He'd learned being pinned down meant pain. His chest ached with both the pressure the hands had put on him and the effort to move... his branding. He let out a squeak as he was repositioned, realizing as the blanket was picked up off him then spread over him again, this time not covering his head, that this had merely been Elizabeth checking up on him. He saw the hurt in her eyes, and tried to call her back, but his throat refusing to allow sound. Everything hurt. He forgot what food and water tasted like, having been forced to eat dog food... when he was even fed at all. Any water he was given was muddy and stale. He heard voices coming from the bar, hushed so he couldn't make them out.. as if they were talking about what to do with him. He tried to rise, but he was made weak from pain. Pain... pain he wanted to stop. He got up once more, struggling to the bathroom. He looked himself in the eyes. A mirror, a bowl to be used as a toilet, and old newspaper articles with whatever information they could scavenge on Holy Knights during their reign. He met his own eyes, and was shocked. This person... couldn't be him. Hollow, green eyes, hair that might have once been blonde but was so caked with blood and dirt, he couldn't tell. A frail, sullen face, not wrinkled, but all the same reflecting misery and famine. He reached out a bony hand and touched his cheek. The reflection on the mirror, of course, did the same. "P-please... no... that can't be me. It can't be..." he longed for the imperfections he had once loathed about himself, for the pesky, stray strands of hair that refused to be tamed, for the obnoxious grin, he wanted the appearance of a naïve boy back. Someone appeared behind him... Gowther. The Sin of Lust put a hand on his shoulder, and muttered calmly, "But it is you." as if he were telling Melodias what was being cooked for dinner. "No..." tears slid down his cheeks. "It isn't! It can't be... that... that isn't me, Gowther!" Gowther, as if realizing Melodias was dangerous and unstable, though in truth realizing his words meant to be comforting made things worse, left the bathroom. "I-it's not m-me..." he stuttered out quietly, but there was no faking the desperation in the eyes of his reflection. Almost like his reflection was begging him to accept it, while Melodias pleaded it wasn't true. They were the same... he sunk to his knees and sniffled. He looked around for something, anything sharp... anything that could pierce his skin. A sewing needle... it would have to do. He poked again and again, leaving red dots of blood. At that very moment, King entered the room with a now shrunken Diane. The needle was wrestled away from him, and he was wrapped in the tight embrace of King's pillow, somehow managing to be comforting and restraining at the same time. He leaned into the large, green, teddybear-like form of the spear, desperate for its comfort. "W-why... you don't need to bear any more pain, Melodias. We're here for you. Your physical wounds will fade away in time." "But... I'd rather have physical pain than emotional pain..." Melodias tried to explain, but there was no way King or Diane could understand. "Captain, please. This isn't worth it."
Melodias looked up at them, trying to convey how much it helped. "But, Diane.. it is."