The rescue comes. But did it come soon enough?

Her neck is ruined. Burning spots of red stand out against sickly, blotchy bruises, shaped by hands neither human nor servitor. Sap lives in her fur now, clumped and sticky and worked in so deep it may never come out again. She lifts a hand to rub at her throat, and there is nothing familiar in the motion. As the eye of the storm imitates stillness, torn in equal measure by winds of all directions, so too would a fool mistake the restraint for composure.

She doesn’t speak. She gasps - ragged, ugly breaths - and perhaps that is the only sound she will make now.

But ah! Fear no longer, Captain of the Starsong! Here is your hero! Shining with the glory of battle, clothed in resplendence and victory. Mighty of arms, powerful and terrible in wrath upon her foes. Does not the sight of her soothe your hurt? Can you not feel your heart grow calm in her shadow? What could [i]possibly[/i] hurt you in the care of the Empress’ hand?

She reaches out, shaking with the effort...

...and her hand closes on the hilt of the knife, still embedded in the mattress.

*************************************************************************

Dolce cannot stop.

If he holds the ingredients in his hands, long enough for his stomach to realize what he’s holding, all will be lost. The moment he picks it up, he throws it in a high arc across the kitchen to land safely in a cookpot. What did he throw? He couldn’t begin to say. He was too busy somersaulting over countertops to his next destination. Where was he going next? An excellent question, he’d get to that in a few minutes, he was busy now. Go here, then there, then back over there, that was his job, and he had to do it, and he couldn’t ever stop.

Please, everyone. Please. He knows it’s hard, but hold on just a little while longer. He’ll be done soon. He’s going as fast as he can. It hurts, oh, how it hurts, the emptiness, trying to eat you up from the inside unless you eat first. He knows it hurts. Believe him, he knows. Please, trust him. Stay strong. Stay alive, please.

See, see, he’ll use what he has. He won’t make any more trips. What does he have? A bottle of it doesn’t matter put it all in. Some packets of he’s not thinking about that he’s too busy putting that in too. Stirring. Stirring. Just keep stirring, Dolce. Almost there. A little while longer. Almost there.

Gods. The [i]emptiness.[/i]

Just...a little...a little longer...

His mouth fills with a heavenly flavor. Rich, sweet, dense and chewy, a little hard in places, no, hold on, that’s a spoon. Why’s there a spoon in his mouth? He looked down his nose and saw the rest of a long stirring spoon sticking out of his mouth, gripped tightly in both hands. All about him, he had the sensation of a crowd, of bustling activity, but perhaps, a growing calm? Or perhaps that was just the work of...well, whatever it was he was chewing. Quite nice though. He thought he ought to keep chewing, spoon or no spoon, and the rest of him agreed it was a fantastic idea. Everything else, he could sort out in a moment.

[Dolce makes it in the nick of time, rolling Overcome w/Grace at 7. Paying a price of his Vigor drinks, marking that off his sheet.]