Serenith sits crumpled in the corner of the room, muttering to herself, cycling through theories with the increasing desperation of a slowly unravelling mind.
Enchantment? Brainwashing?
A blow to the head she don't remember taking.
Maybe lingering void-magic contamination, some environmental residue I picked up in the Ashlands?
Something has to be wrong with her. That's the only explanation for the thoughts, the behavior, the traitorous hand she's currently staring at, still trembling slightly, still very much guilty of what it just did while she watched him work.
She bites her lip, and wonders, just for a moment, if maybe, considering everything he's put her through, considering how thoroughly he refuses to leave her thoughts, maybe, it's not entirely unreasonable for a divine being to grow attached to a mortal. To maybe even fall in—
A shrieking meow-moan cuts the thought off clean at the root as Lucien finishes with his last participant of the evening.
