How naïve of her to feel safe, now that the beast was gone. Stricken with hideous laughter, Victor dropped his weapon on the ground and wandered, delirious, across the street. Although he was relatively far from the elevator, Adelicia flinched when he punched the lamp post and could not help imagining what it would feel like if that had been her body in stead of the steel pole. She did not like the way he turned around to look at her then and a cold shiver, whether from fright or disgust – or both – washed over her spine as she averted her gaze from his suddenly retching form.

Adelicia picked up her staff from the ground where it lay at her feet and used it as aid in standing up again, slowly raising herself from the little pile of misery she had been moments before. She had not been involved in the fighting, yet she felt exhaustion weigh more heavily upon her shoulders than on any of the hunters, it seemed. She leaned entirely on her censer staff, head resting against the iron shaft, when Raine approached her, arms in hand. His demeanor did not appear threatening, but appearances were deceiving in Yharnam. Maybe it wasn’t the overtly mad Victor that would be her death, but the quiet and brooding Raine Provostus. To be killed by a fellow member of the church, one of her assigned guardians no less – for shame.

“Please don’t kill me,” she mumbled when he arrived, raising her palm in a gesture to halt him. “I yield my blood willingly, if you give me mercy.” All the while, her innocent blue eyes remained focused not on his face, but on the blood-drenched weapon in his hands. She could not explain why looking at something so abhorrent fascinated – or at least, compelled – her so.