TRAINSPOTTING // open + torture

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    Deathstroke sat perched in front of the cage that contained his latest captive. The hellhound had been surprisingly gentle in this case, this time not shaking the cage or yelling at his victim. No, no, he simply sat there patiently waiting for her to come to. Was this mercy? Fuck nah, he was trying a new angle for this session of torture, mixing it up a bit. Perhaps a little boring for watchers but it wasn't about them.
    "Wake up, kiddo."
    He would speak up in a gentle voice.

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    [font='baskerville old face']ISELOTTA DAAÉ
    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia]
    [size=8]
    Iselotta couldn't really remember what happened to her. One moment, she was walking away from Alastor's hut after keeping guard on the 'Phantom' that they had in BlizzardClan, as she had promised, and the next, she was being shoved over into the snow, her head hitting a rock and subduing her before she even had time to fully react.


    Thus, the white panther was in the situation she was in now. Though normally she would not deny the chance at sleep, for the woman suffered from insomnia, her subconcious was all too fully aware that something was wrong, warning bells ringing in her head as Deathstroke's voice gently urged her awake again. Her gray eyes snapped open, her head lifting groggily and her expression shifed into a bit of pain as the quick movements made her dizzy. She shoed herself up to her paws, her breath hitching at the cold feel of petal under her paws. A cage?! NO, no no...


    The panther's gentle eyes had been replaced with a wide-eyed glint of fear as she looked around, her breaths heaving as she tried to make sense of what was going on. "Who are you? Why have you brought me here?" she demanded as her gaze settled on Deathstroke, all too aware that this was a terrible, terrible situation to be in. "I mean you no harm! Let me go!"

    "Hush now, child. Settle down, everything is going to be okay. Just listen to my voice."
    Deathstroke spoke as he rested his paw against the cage door, his single eye trained on her intently.
    "My name is Deathstroke and you're in the Cartel. Now then, lets get you out of that cage shall we?"
    The hellhound opened the cage door after removing the lock, and he used his paw to gesture for her to come out to him. He was acting like a friendly individual, potentially her hope of escaping. It was an act but of course Deathstroke had years of acting under his belt, that was why he made a dangerous spy.



    "We don't have much time. I need you to trust me."
    His expression was unchanging as he waited for her to move.

    BlizzardClanners seemed to be the rage these days, interesting. Perhaps they should be a target for the Gang Wars instead. Bill floated over to the torture, cast a quick glance at Iselotta before he conjured up a coin and tossed it at Deathstroke. He offered the Thug a nod, but said nothing.


    [spoiler=INFO & LINKS - UPDATED 1/17][fancypost=bgcolor=; border:0px; width:375px; font-size:7.5pt]
    GENERAL:
    "godfather" bill cipher | male (he/him) | godfather [leader] of the cartel | titles: weird ass motherfucker, cut throat, warmonger | mentally 1 trillion years; acts 5 years; doesn't really age in mortal bodies/takes the age of whatever body he possess
    PHYSICAL:
    [CURRENT][/color] golden feline with black markings
    is a ghost (ghostmode); all of the bodies he possesses are sleep deprived, dehydrated, and starved.
    wears a deer teeth necklace and an intestine scarf
    black blood
    INJURIES & SCARS:
    "FINN'S" written on right flank
    scars also change depending on the body he possesses; the "finn" scar stays, however.
    MENTAL HEALTH:
    emotionally unstable
    currently dealing with keeping "corrupt" at bay (bleeds from the nose, eyes, and mouth from this occasionally)
    PERSONALITY:
    insane, sarcastic, irreverent, eccentric, psychopathic, quick thinker, quick talker, outlandish, outrageous, extremely masochistic, untrustworthy
    RELATIONSHIPS:
    single, crushing on no one; panromantic, pansexual; sleeps with everyone
    CONFRONTATION:
    physically easy, mentally very hard
    attack in BOLD BLACK
    OTHER
    tv tropes/bio/other information and links

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    [font='baskerville old face']ISELOTTA DAAÉ
    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia]
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    Iselotta took a shaky breath in, nodding despite the fact that she was still panicked. But the voice that spoke to her was calm, though the cage she was in and the man that tossed Deathstroke a coin said otherwise. "Why am I in the Cartel?" she demanded, her eyes growing cold as her voice relayed the seriousness that donned her tone, her gentle nature, for the moment, dissipated while she assessed this potential danger.


    Yet the door to her cage was opening, and the Panther, blood lightly dried to the side of her face, stepped out. [b]"Why should I trust you? I want to go back to BlizzardClan. And this still does not explain why I was in a cage, Monsieur! I would expect answers, if you may."

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    what was this? she'd noticed the large cage quite easily, but seeing deathsroke's nice-guy act made her feel sick. at least this girl new well enough not to trust him, it'd be a hard trick to pull with so many members (quite literally) floating around. she debated jumping in and adding to the whole scheme, but she really had quite a bit of dislike for deathstroke, and thus slumped downwards nearby, resting her head gently on an outstretched paw. her pale gaze lay fixed on the blizzardclanner, waiting to see how this unfolded. she'd much rather watch this than a brutal beating, anyways.
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    information - 1/18

    The hellhound quickly collected the coin and stuffed it away before he turned his focus to the BlizzardClanner. However the arrival of his fellow Cartelians probably wasn't helping the matter. Thus far the female had shown a keener intelligence than that displayed by his earlier victims. He would need to step it up a notch.
    "And answers you will get, in due time. Please, you must rest, you seem to have taken quite the blow to the head."
    Conjuring up some tea in a rather fancy looking cup he would then offer it to her, though it was laced with the essence of a new strand of catnip he had been growing in secret, something with a stronger hallucinogenic kick.



    "Well, the bad news first then; you've been sold to the Cartel. As of right now I own you, you're my property. It seems we had someone important to BlizzardClan locked up and they got desperate about getting them back, so a trade was made. That is why you're here."
    Deathstroke explained, developing the tale. There was a reason for this, but he needed to build up to it. Though making sure she drank the tea was vital to his devious plan.

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    [font='baskerville old face']ISELOTTA DAAÉ
    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia]
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    Iselotta would slowly accept the cup, setting it down before herself, though she did not drink, calmly sitting as her tail flicked over her paws. Her head ached, but she did not let her gaze move from the man sat before her, her eyes narrowing at his words; but just as quickly, she straightened up with a small sigh. "Oh, Monsieur," she exhaled softly, her voice returning to its gentle, soft tone. "I simply couldn't drink alone. It's so very impolite! Please, I insist, have the first sip! It is only polite that my gracious host is allowed that formality."


    A test indeed. Iselotta was not so unwise to blindly trust whoever this was, especially in a place she didn't know. If he did not accept the tea, there was a reason he might not have. But as his words continued, her face fell as her expression knitted together. "No, that cannot be true! BlizzardClan has shown to be nothing but my family... Pei-.." Pierce. Their Head Paladin. Would they really have-... No, that couldn't have! But it was no secret three other BlizzardClan members had gone missing. Wasn't it to here, as well? Would they?


    Swallowing, Iselotta chose her next words carefully, though her voice hitched as she dared to choke out the words. "Who instigated this trade, Monsieur? What do you want with me? I am not... a person of power. I have no... No relation to Sweetophelia..." her voice trailed off slowly as she shook her head, not believing it, but at the same time, a lingering doubt in the back of her mind. She was still new to the Clan. Compared to an old friend, and old family member, someone like Pierce... As much as she wished to shove her doubt away, what else could she trust at the moment? She hardly dared she could trust Deathstroke, but who else was there? She was on her own, her own decisions, and she was lacking the confidence in herself that she'd be able to get herself out of this mess, careful as she were. She had yet to drink the tea, but her doubt was growing.

    The post was edited 2 times, last by ISELOTTA ().

    "Thank you. Makes a pleasant change having a prisoner with some manners, individuals of your type are so rare and far between these days."
    Deathstroke would reply with a curt nod as he took the cup and sipped from it without hesitation before returning it to her. Unfortunately for her he was an avid user of drugs and had some resistance to his own concoctions. Though even he would struggle if forced to drink anymore, but hopefully the confident sip would be enough to fool her.



    Leaning back he took on a reclined pose, looking rather relaxed where he was and was seemingly treating this like a casual encounter.
    "I'm sorry, but I am not at liberty to reveal the name of the customer. That would be poor business. But these are desperate times, not everyone can afford to fight time and time again."
    He explained with a small shrug, though he had been tempted to latch blame onto either Mack or one of the Head Combatants, but sometimes lacing a situation with mistrust would be more productive. Leave her guessing and placing false blame onto them.



    "And yes, what will I do with you? And I accepted the trade because, if I'm honest, I found you to be rather attractive."
    Deathstroke would lean forward as he closed the gap between them, his single eye studying her.
    "Perhaps you would do me the honour of becoming my wife? I will treat you well, provided that you behave."

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    [font='baskerville old face']ISELOTTA DAAÉ
    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia]
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    "So I am a prisoner, Monsouier?" she questioned, though, out of habit, still allowed the respects of calling him 'sir'. Perhaps that was better in this situation, in any regard, being less of a target. Though the Cartel's watching her made her uneasy. What was this place? Still, Iselotta watched carefully as he sipped from the tea. Though the woman was smart, her lack of knowledge of the Clan itself- and Deathstroke's habits, let her become prey to this trap that she had so desperately tried to avoid. Allowing a soft smile as he met her demand, she leaned down as she took a sip for herself.


    The effects wouldn't hit her right away, which allowed for her to continue this odd conversation of theirs. "Of course, Monsuier," she allowed with a curt nod, doing her best to avoid aggrivating this man as much as she could, especially after being dubbed a prisoner of his. [b]"You are a businessman. Many can respect such a trade. Even if your... methods... so to speak, are unorthodox. But please, please, excuse a French Mademoiselle such as myself on speaking to such matters, I know nothing of business." Still unaware of her trap, she was cleverly trying to buy herself some time to think- though her mind would soon be slipping, even as they neared the end of this conversation, her paws beginning to shuffle a little as time passed and grew on.


    Still, his offer, fake or not, caught her off guard- a fact she realized as she dantily bowed her head and turned her gaze away just slightly, though her gray-eyed gaze never moved from this man, watching his actions. The white leopard did have some beauty to her; soft voiced, bright, dazzling eyes that always seemed to retain some softness. She was graceful, but that was all besides the point, caught off guard as she forced a little laugh before speaking smoothly.


    "Why, sir! You are very forward, aren't you? I pay my respects to you, yes, for this situation requires such, you being a stranger. But come, now! My bond will not be so easily won!" Even if this was fake, she'd play along. Perhaps she was also amused to hear his answer. "Are you not supposed to get to know a lady before you ask such a question? My, my..." her voice trailed off as she wasn't sure what to say. Her world was starting to shift a little, not with her blacking out, but everything growing a little fuzzy. Something didn't seem right, but she couldn't yet put her paw on it.

    "Yes, you are a prisoner."
    Deathstroke confirmed as he conjured up another cup of tea for himself, one that wasn't laced with his hidden drug. He would take several sips from the decorative mug as he let her speak, the words trailing out and making him snort with a slight bit of laughter as she responded to his offer of marriage.
    "Once you get to my age there's no time left to be patient anymore. Besides, if it goes pear-shaped I can always just file for divorce, or kill you. Depends on my mood. More than anything I want another child, they have a foul habit of dying on me."
    Now that was true, his offspring seemed to follow a trend of losing their minds and offing themselves in new and spectacular ways that did honestly surprise him, though left him in a world of hidden hurt. No heirs to his throne, no one to carry the Wilson name... Bill certainly had him there, you could hardly move because of the number of Cipher brats romping around these days.



    Leaning forward again he attempted to maintain eye contact with her; time to make his move.
    "Tell me, what do you remember from before you got knocked out?"
    Already he was casting the tendrils of his mental abilities out to her own, intending to ravage the vulnerable mind provided that the drugs had taken effect. He needed her to try and recall the memories so he could target them directly, his intentions being to rewrite it all and develop a fresh story. Not one where she was running from him but rather a new tale relating to her overhearing a BlizzardClanner's plan before trying to flee but unsuccessfully. Hopefully her mind would help develop a false enemy face for her to blame, perhaps a friend or icon of trust?

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    [font='baskerville old face']ISELOTTA DAAÉ
    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia]
    [size=8]    Iselotta felt her body droop as her paws nearly gave out, righting herself quickly again as shes cleared her throat, blinking several times as she tried to keep herself together. "For how long?" she uttered simply. Though she shook her head to herself- that was a terrible question. How long? Really, Lottie?


    "No offense, Monsieur, I would prefer to keep my head on my shoulders... But... you hardly seem old, if I may say." There was something very wrong. The panic that rose in her chest was brief, as the fuzzing around her vision was winning over with whatever was happening to her. For a time, her words evolved into mumbles until she rested one paw on top of the other, digging her nails in lightly to garner her own attention back.


    "I am... sorry, Monsieur, to hear of the fate of your children." she muttered, doing her best to keep track of the conversation. Her words were genuine- she was a sweet panther, and despite her situation, she could feel pity for the fate of the man. No, stop! She needed to keep her head, though it appears her thoughts were hardly her own anymore. "...You drugged me." she mused softly, equally parts shocked as she was amused at her own failure. But then she blinked sharply as he got in her face again, meeting his gaze as she took in a deep breath.


    "Yes, of course...." she murmured, trying to think back. She had been with Alastor, the Phantom, at her guard shift. She had just left there when she was attacked. Before that, she had been going around her daily business. Walks around the border, greeting visitors, teaching French to some of her Clanmates at the word of Sweetopheila when she had asked for a weekly task. Again, with Alastor, as she had volunteered to keep an eye on him. "I was... leaving my post..." she muttered, having no control over what he was doing to her, unaware he was in her thoughts.




    DEATHSTROKE


    "Well that's the benefit of body jumping my dear, I've taken on several new forms over the years. I'm an immortal, but even immortals can still feel the pangs of age."
    Deathstroke would explain as he sipped some more from his cup of tea. How many times had he died now? He had honestly lost track, but his first taste of demise he still remembered clearly. The Exiles had captured him and they had taken their dear sweet time torturing him and eating him. It was through the power of his hunger for revenge that had allowed him to return to the realm of the living. And revenge he got too! Ah, those were the days.


    "Drugged you? Nonsense, surely if I did I would have been effected as well. My sweet lady, that truly must have been a serious strike to your head."
    A sly smirk toyed at the corner of his lips as he used his abilities to probe and study her memories as he let her give him the answers he needed. Hm... Alastor, a potential villain for this story of betrayal. But he would dig deeper still.
    "You left your guard post? Did you finish early or was someone meant to take over from you? If so where had they been? Maybe they had waited for you to finish before jumping you? Please, try to remember more for me."


    TEMPLATE MADE BY #NOWI | PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE THIS CREDIT



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    Character Data

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    [font='baskerville old face']
    ISELOTTA DAAÉ


    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia]
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    Body jumping? Iselotta hadn't had much of a pleasure of learning about that sort of thing; but she did know many of the people within BlizzardClan had powers like that- something she lacked. Unfortunately. Maybe if she had had some sort of power, she would have been able to resist the dark tendrils of his control seeping into her mind. "What an odd thing to consider, Monsieur. Will you ever give up on your immortality?" she questioned, though almost as if it were softly echoed of her own voice, her eyes glazing over. She was completely out of it now.


    "...Right you... you did drink too. This is odd, Monsieur." Blinking once, then twice, she shook her head to try and clear the fog in her mind, but it did not disappear. [b]"No... I.. I thought I left at my usual time... Someone.. takes over after me. But it changes... Someone in the Clan... But.. I don't see why?" she paused for a long moment as she thought it over. It was true. Many people had wished for Alastor's execution the moment he had been announced as the Phantom who had kidnapped many Ally clan members and tortured them. But upon being deemed mentally ill, Iselotta had spoken up first to protect him. Though she didn't know if it was love- most likely pity than anything for the poor creature, it didn't make sense. Why would getting Alastor killed lead to her kidnapping? Maybe she was over thinking this? Who was taking Guard after her? Mack? Storm?


    "I just... I do not understand, Monseir.. I was.. just promoted... I was always around the Clan.. Helping... I.. I didn't think I had enemies? But... Monsier... You know who brought me here, didn't you? I know you're.. a business man and.. It's not my place... Why would someone do this?'




    DEATHSTROKE


    "Maybe one day, but I've been barred from entering various Hells so I'm stuck here in the meantime."
    It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to enter the final sleep but each and every time he had been tossed straight back into life. Not much he could do about that, though if he ever got the opportunity to pass on he would take it.


    "I know this must be very difficult to understand, when facing these sorts of situations regarding mass captures even the most honourable of men will do some really bizarre things. Though I guess you can look on the bright side; you're worth three people."
    Right, enough playing around, time for the nitty gritty. Moving forward he aimed to creep up behind Lottie, intending to brush his body against her own whilst his long whip-like tail aimed to coil around her neck.
    "Do you remember what your attacker did to you? What Mack did to you?"
    He intended to generate new memories, utilising his own recollection and aiming to insert it into her own mind whilst replacing all trace of himself with Mack. Whilst doing this he attempted to tighten the grip around her neck and also trying to sink his claws into her side.
    "Do you remember what he did to you? The pain? You resisted, he got angry and desperate, he assaulted you."


    TEMPLATE MADE BY #NOWI | PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE THIS CREDIT



    [center]

    Character Data

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    [font='baskerville old face']
    ISELOTTA DAAÉ


    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia]
    /mobile


    It was true. She couldn't understand with her drug muddled mind. Her vision was swirling, odd apparitions at the corner of her eyes. She shook them away as best she could, but they remained. Lottie could hardly make out the figure of the man before her anymore. "I do not know, Monsieur," she whispered softly, her voice almost an echo of itself, as if she were speaking far away as her mind was tormented. "If that is a good thing... I.. I thought I was family..."


    But Iselotta had very little time to think about it. Her head swimming, almost feeling as if she were about to fall. Her body swayed, though her feet never gave out as Deathsttoke appeared at her side. "Mack..." she echoed softly. Their Deputy, like Peirce, though she didn't know him personally. But already her mind was being twisted. Any flashes of Deathstroke that she had seen in her attack was replaced with their faithful Deputy.


    Iselotta felt herself going light headed, gasping in a breath of air as his tail began to choke her, her gray eyes going wide, crackling like a thunder storm as she struggled against it, crying out softly as his nails dug into her side, creating puncture holes where they rested, dotting her snow white fur with bright crimson.


    Yes, it must have been Mack that did that, for that's what her mind was telling her, where she was desperately trying to hide away from the pain and the fog of her mind. She was scared, trying to rely what she always did. Her knowledge. Her mind. The mind was crumbling under the dark tendrils of control. If anything, she was making it worse for herself.


    The images flashed in her head. Being tackled into the snow, not by Deathstroke, but by their bright Deputy, Mack. Her cloak being ripped away as she fought back, the gentle green a contrast against Mack's fur. The cloak that alerted BlizzardClan to her disappearance. The clue that "Mack" forgot. "Please.." she whispered. "You didn't have to trade me," the French wildcat cried out softly, but not to Deathstroke, but to her own betraying mind. I trusted you! she cried out in her mind.


    Mack's betrayal, no matter how little she knew him personally was almost too much to bear. Sweets, Eren, Mie, Yuri. Did they mean anything? Did she ever mean anything to them? Was her gentle nature too easily subdued, too easily lured into a trap? What should she trust?




    DEATHSTROKE


    "But I must. What other choice do we have? I'm sorry, but we made our decision."
    Deathstroke would speak as he tried to manipulate the memories further, he needed to set this in stone. His plan was to release her at some point with the hopes that she would cause havoc later for BlizzardClan. Long term wounds truly were works of art and he many victims who had suffered this very manipulation and pain. He looked forward to seeing Iselotta develop after this for sure.


    "He caused you such pain, what will you do if you got the chance to go home? After the way he treated you I would call him out as a traitor. He left you battered and bruised all because you tried to resist."
    Raising his paws he aimed to strike at her body with the intentions of leaving her bruised and bleeding, but nothing too serious. Though once done he would aim to rub his paws over them to try and soothe the pain as he feigned being the caring master.


    TEMPLATE MADE BY #NOWI | PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE THIS CREDIT



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    Character Data

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    [font='baskerville old face']
    ISELOTTA DAAÉ


    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia][size=8]
    Iselotta was too out of it. Though she was now doubting Mack by his word, it was unlikely the femme would outright declare a rank about her a traitor- at least in Public eyes. To Sweets, though.. "He did this," she echoed him softly, though exhaling with a sharp cough as the blow hit, enough to knock her off balance and stumbling as the bruises began. Her eyes went wide in the continued shock of pain. Why was she only feeling it now? Perhaps it was the shock of it all, finally catching up to her muddled mind. She knew something was wrong. It had to have been her attacker. Leaving her dazed, broken.


    With each continued blow from Deathstrike, her form began to shrink to the floor, each bruise and cut along her body causing her to stumble until she simply collapsed, not able to take the blows and keep herself balanced with the way her vision swarmed. Her mind moved away from her attacks, trying to find safety. Her father. A proud wildcat like herself. A musician. He had grown sick when Lottie was young. Had he felt like this on his deathbed, as she sit at his side, watching his degeneration? Dizzy, confused, seeing things that weren't there. In pain. Out of breath. Feeling like he wasn't even in his own body anymore, out of control of everything?


    What would he think of her now? Disappointed. Ashamed. Letting herself be prey to evil. Mack. She hadn't expected it from Mack. Alastor, maybe. THough the masked villan of BlizzardClan who captured Allies. The person she said would guard. The mentally unstable. Not Mack. Why Mack? Sure, she didn't know him, but why him? Why someone she thought was a friend? Why... So many questions, yet all of them would go unanswered.




    DEATHSTROKE


    "It's alright, my dear. Those BlizzardClanners can't hurt you anymore, not whilst you're here. They've left you battered and bruised, probably expecting you to be killed or maimed here. But that's not going to happen, especially if you marry me. I never hurt my wives."
    Deathstroke spoke in a gentle voice as he tried to seem like the hero when he was truly the villain. He was a good liar, especially when it came to his wives. Of course he hurt them, he had even murdered two of them. Only one had been left untouched, then again she had hurt him physically but on a consensual level.


    "Then again I can patch you up and release you, then together we can get you some justice. Wouldn't you like that? If Mack had any sort of backbone he would be here, not you. Like a coward he threw you out to the dogs. Isn't that right?"
    He was determined to turn his victim into a weapon, one that could lure in a bigger catch. Mack was always involved in the raids and he believed that by getting him then surely the trend would be broken. He just hoped that Lottie's mental defences remained weak enough to keep up the act, any sort of fracture could unravel his entire plan.


    TEMPLATE MADE BY #NOWI | PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE THIS CREDIT



    [center]

    Character Data

    [center]


    [font='baskerville old face']
    ISELOTTA DAAÉ
    [color=gray]White Panther | 2 years | Attack in [color=#7F0037]Bold #7F0037

    [fancypost=width:375px; min-height:187px; color:darkgray; margin-top:-5px;][align=justify][font=georgia][size=8]
    There the offer was again. Marriage. His words forced her mind away from her drifting thoughts of her father and her family, returning as she shuts her eyes tight, bowing her head as she tried to gain some sense of reality again. The shifting in her vision was making her sick. The pain she felt, still fresh, was almost pulsing. She remained on the ground, her forehead pressed to the cool ground as she took in slow, deep breaths. "You... must be fond of me, Monsieur," she murmured softly as, without her flickering vision, it was easier to focus on her words. "Twice, now.. you have offered... And.... Twice now, I shall decline.." she continued in her quiet voice, swallowing as she thought of what to say. She wasn't so dazed that she'd blindly accept. It was true, he had helped her- as far as her altered memories were aware. He was caring for her, and shes was blind to the fate of all of his other wives.


    "I am... grateful.. for your help. But I do not know you well enough to accept. It would feel wrong to jump into something so... so permanent with no inkling of... Who you are. What you like... What makes you happy," but she paused, thinking back through his words as she misunderstood something. To be released, he would have to marry her? She would still be a prisoner? "I want to be free. I will not... bind myself to be allowed that... I am. I have always been.. my own person. I will remain that way." A pause, a struggle to get back to her feet, her head still bowed and her eyes shut. She wasn't sure if she was going to throw up, pass out, or fall back down again. "He would be here..." she nodded her soft agreement to his twisting words. "I do want to go home..." But wait. Was it home anymore? Could she trust them? She had so many questions for them. So many questions for him, yet she found it hard to word them- found it hard to speak beyond these simple answers. "He is a coward. But it is... not my place. It is Sweets. She leads him. Us. Us? I... I do not know, Monsieur. I do not feel well."