Set right after The Disappearance of Lady Heysan
Day one.

Into the early hours she lay still, curled up in that tight, foetal position where no one could mistake her emotional state. All she wanted was to forget, but the burns of the memories wrecked her mind. Many, many hours before had she rid her body of tears. Now she lay in a state of silence and depression, heart heavy and slowly beating to the rhythm of a non-existent but still noisesome drum. The same one that filled her head and told her:

“He's in love with you. He was always in love with you.”

Feverishly she grabbed as many cushions as she could and piled them around her. She buried herself into them, feeling like she was more in a nest than anything and that felt good. A nest was what she watched born in, and a nest was where she was determined to hide in right now. Her space of safety, her realm of security. They were behind and surrounding her by the time he walked in again.

He said nothing, only paused before walking quietly over to an armchair. She heard the sound of springs, and the shuffling of paper. There was just the briefest moment of silence before he began to write, the faint scratching of pencil alive.

Stare curled tighter, huffing into her pillows, and neither of them spoke.

It passed for at least an hour. Then there was the sudden thud of a door and then a grunt as someone failed to open it. A pause, and there was another thud, causing Stare to seize somewhat from the suddenness of the sound. She began to sit up to look at the door, when a sigh came from across the room. Then there was a quiet click and she froze, partially out of her lying position, a cushion nudging out of the way. The door was just within her sights now and she saw it hesitantly open and a face appear - of Zulon.

The door had been locked?

“Yes?” came the low voice from behind her.

Zulon’s eyes flickered to hers, then somewhere beyond her shoulder. There was no way she was going to turn around, and so she ducked back down, grabbing the cushion from behind her and saving it from falling.

“Ah … Sir … Miss, food is ready.”

“Bring it in here, Zulon,” Vitruvion said, “if you will.”

“Of course, sir,” he commented, then paused. “Is - will the door be locked again?”

“The door was locked to not allow in unnecessary company, Zulon, but no. It will not be on your return.”

“Very good sir,” and there was the sound of a closing door.

Stare buried herself back under the cushions, pulling one right over her head and tightened her jaw. Firmly she closed her eyes, as if seeing anything anymore would cause her immense pain. At least Vitruvion was not locking the door to keep her in, though she would not be surprised if that was a secondary purpose.

“Stare,” came a quiet, cautious voice, “you must eat when the food comes.”

He was addressing her directly now. She wrapped her arms closer around her, making a small noise of discontent. Her stomach was truly empty, but eating was not something she really wanted to do right now. Not just because he was in the room, but because starving right now was a much more attractive option.

“Please,” he sighed.

“Not hungry,” she whispered. “Don’t want to. Not hungry.”

“Then at least drink, my dear, please.”

And ‘my dear’ was not said with any harshness, any sarcasm like he had many times. There was no brutal meaning behind it, but rather a depth of care of actual tenderness. SHe had no doubt of its genuine regard for her, because she could feel the very emotions through the tone, and for a moment she softened, knowing that he was just wanting her good health and wellbeing.

“Vitruvion, I cannot eat right now,” she replied in a louder voice, “please do not ask me again.”

He made no sound, and did not ask her again that day.