Diane blinked as she straightened her posture. Her body screamed in protest, heavy and hollow, as if all her Sanguine Veins had been drained dry along with her will.
Every breath felt borrowed, every thought sluggish, and for a brief, dangerous moment, she wondered how easy it would be to simply lie down and sleep forever in this place.
Seamus' arms around her were warm and steady, but still, she hesitated.
"I'm not the fake that died on the floor," he said quietly, reading her doubt without effort. "I'm not that easy to kill. You know that."
Diane let out a weak chuckle. "I know. But you could still be another illusion. Just like Maria. Was she real? I don't know anymore. I'm tired, Seamus."
He leaned closer, his voice low and firm as if sealing the cracks in her mind. "This place feeds on negativity. Regret, guilt, fear, trauma. It drags out memories you buried and sharpens them until they break you. That's how it works."
