Dreams, hopes, ambitions: vanquished, ruined, desecrated by the unholy union of monster and queen.

Why had she bothered to think she stood a chance? He'd defeated her once before; what hope had she had of turning him away? Now, seeing Själ's dismay, seeing her alarm, Nymeria is only reminded more than ever of the memories she'd tried to forget. They unwillingly rose to the forefront of her mind, too sharp and too vibrant in 4K. How well she remembered it: salt in her lungs, the sea lapping against the shore, the dragons screaming and scrawling across the horizon in raging defiance. The colors had blurred together—white and black, gold and gray—all which formed a spectrum of misery, despair, shame, and horror. There had been weight against her, unwanted and unneeded, and then there had been her pain, both emotional and physical, as her dignity was scrupulously stripped and reduced to less than nothing.

The memories were both too real and not real at all.

What she had thought certain at the time seemed less certain now: had she been in the wrong? Had she been unwittingly leading him on? Had she really fought to free herself or had she given in? She didn't want to think that, didn't want to believe she had submitted to Abraham's poisonous touch—but maybe she was wrong.

How well do I really know myself?

Her emotions were bleeding out, threatening to split the seams of her self-composure. That day, the day on the beach, was a tumour growing inside her head, gnawing at her brain.

Själ leaned towards her, concerned; then something about her features harden, and Nymeria flinches, shifting back. It takes Nymeria a terribly long moment to realize that Själ's anger was not at her but at Abraham. Who? The unicorn spits, her voice threaded with venom and maternal fury. Nym stirs, unsettled, watching Själ's muscle and sinew flex in rigid control. There is an unfathomable beauty to Själ's indignation on her behalf—because why should she care? Nothing had happened to her, after all. If there was one thing Nymeria was certain of, it was that Själ did not deserve to be forced into protecting her.

I can protect myself.

(She laughs at that, out-loud and in Själ's face, dazed and confused and oh-so-very-clearly out of it.)

Lilómiel croons to her, soft and sweet in her ear. You can tell her, he pleads. Själ cares for you. Can't you see? Tentatively, Nym lets her gaze rove back to the amber-eyed unicorn, her withered heart swelling with admiration to see her passion. It is that more than anything that coaxes her into speech-

Is everything alright?

The voice is unexpected and strikes some hazy sense of fear back into her. Nym jerks forwards, hastily pivoting to face the newcomer. Her repositioning puts her alongside Själ, side-by-side; together they square off to the white-eyed and dark-winged hybrid. Almost unconsciously Nym presses in to Själ, seeking out that precious feeling of security; she blinks at the stallion, momentarily at a loss for words. Is everything alright? He'd said, as if he cared—is everything alright? As if anything could be alright.

Stop being melodramatic Nym you're just being a fucking bitch this doesn't matter it's your own fault.

Seizing on the moment, before Själ might say something, Nymeria snaps out: "No, nothing is alright, but I. Don't. Know. Why the fuck you care anyways."