The world revealed itself through a foggy blur, its shapes uncertain and details erased. A great, orange light glared through the haze like a merciless god, causing the young saint to blink in a struggle to avoid being blinded further. She wondered why her bed felt so hard and unyielding and why her limbs ached so. She could not remember hurting herself in the previous days, after all. Stirring from her spell of unconsciousness, Adelicia fumbled with her hands and feet and felt only further confused when she began to realize that she had apparently gone to bed fully clothed. Stifling a yawn, she wiped her eyes and blinked away the last traces of sleep – and felt amazed when she discovered that she was not in her bed chamber at all but outside in Yharnam, on the street no less. Frowning in confusion, she lifted herself into a sitting position and surveyed her surroundings; it was only when her gaze fell on Victor that she felt context and understanding become one.

“W-What happened?” she stammered, still struggling to remember what exactly had happened to her to cause this lapse in consciousness in her. Thinking about how she got here, all she could remember was the terrifying encounter with the Mad One and loose remembrances of traversing the streets with her two companions. Two companions: Victor and Raine. Blinking again, thinking she might still be affected, she looked about herself but failed to find any trace of the latter. “Where is Raine?” she asked, her voice quivering with concern. Perhaps, she thought, he had already gone inside the clinic where some sort of struggle had ensued. It occurred to her that they had tossed a coin to determine what to do, after all – but could not remember the outcome, for some reason.

Somewhat embarrassed at her present condition, she rose to her feet once more, picking up the now-dented censer-staff from where it had crashed against the soil. Its robust construction had barely permitted any real damage to be dealt to it, with most of the harm being some of the silvery coat being scratched off. Dusting off her skirt, she was about to approach Victor but something about his demeanor made her hesitate. Perhaps it was the labored breath, the look in his eyes, or something subtler still emanating from his aspect – whatever it was, she felt her terror in him renewed on a level she could neither rationalize nor deny.