Having concluded his business with Bartholomew, he had returned and left the fine commander there on the riverbed- wrapped in between the cold, loving embraces of the joyous trio of women and the protesting Kerras. It took him a great amount of concentration not to view the world through their eyes as they violated Bartholomew gruesomely in turns, but around his own, physical body... the silence- that rare, delectable, still atmosphere was intoxicating in its own. Even the clatter of chains that would so often plague his mind whenever he was alone was now absent and in the chains’ place, he heard naught but the crackle of the fireplace.

He took a whiff of the air and could still taste Kester’s cannibalistic meals. The smell of seared, human flesh had a tang to it- one that awoke a distant memory of an unforgettable- unforgiveable fire. He already knew, then, that the memories would be raining down upon him- he would be forced to relive that blasted night. “No, no- not now-…" He muttered and turned around to rub his face aggressively on Kester’s well-polished countertop.

A pair of hesitant footsteps sounded from the kitchen and took with them the waking nightmares. He knew that gait- how could he not? He had heard them nearly every day for the duration of his new life, but for once, he took a moment to appreciate the way she could dispel that horrid silence with her mere presence. With more caution than she had ever shown, she took a seat next to him and stared her red eyes down unto the countertop. The intrusive memories receded back into his bitter mind, where he would do his best to keep that horrid night under lock and chain until the darkness consumed him.

“H-hey...” She spoke with a quivering voice, still staring into the ancient wood. Neda folded her hands and twiddled her fingers atop the counter. Confused as to what this greeting meant, Asrael raised an eyebrow and turned towards his companion to ask: “Hello?” Hearing what she thought to be a rare jest, she did something she thought she’d never do ever again- smile. Looking over at him, she could see the oddly mellow necromancer return his green eyes to stare down into a glass of untouched spirits. She attempted several times to speak her mind- to confess her sin of merely watching as Ellie had worked on the unconscious bodies tirelessly throughout the evening. Finally, she braved voicing:

“A-Asrael, I-” He drummed his fingers against the countertop, but not with his usual impatience, but rather, as if he were pondering something. In profile, Asrael was somehow slightly less ugly- or perhaps it was due to the dim illumination. Still, she found him frightening enough to hesitate and eventually fall back into silence. After her lips had stilled, he offered: “You should not be disappointed... even my mind was no match for hers.” Her giggle was oddly genuine, however nervous- no- not nervous... weary. Exhausted.

“I know... that’s not-…" She trailed off, paused before bending over the counter to meet his distant, unmoving stare. “You’re cheerier than usual... You haven't yelled at me yet.” In the darkness, she could still see most of him- his pale face and hands seemed to reflect the light of the fire like a bleak satellite. His lips were contorted into something in between both a frown and a smile at once- the expression of a man in limbo.

He took the glass and swirled its contents about as he thoughtfully spoke: “Yes- I suppose I am. Despite the girl’s interference and continued existence, all is going better than I had expected.” She seemed brazened by his uncommon patience and braved; “It is? I mean... you kinda look happier than usual, but you’re not exactly jumping with joy." He bit back a comment regarding the uselessness of exaggerating his emotions, but instead found himsely nearly scoffing his bitter laugh as he remembered that years ago, someone far more important to him than the girl had spoken nearly her exact words- numerous times, in fact. Realizing he would not be drinking the spirits, he pushed to glass towards his companion and told her:

“I do not think I am capable of feeling as you do. I see no reason for it, and if I did, it would only be short-lived.” Her surprisingly somber companion took an unnecessary, deep breath and looked to the shelves beyond the counter with narrowed eyes, as if the bottles of wine and piss had something fascinating to them. That unusual expression of his filled her with unnerve- that oddness he usually exuded had momentarily faltered, leaving him more human than she would usually view him... it was equal parts uncomfortable and refreshing, but as much as she wanted to explore this weakened Asrael, she imagined this was his way of telling her, just as Rallo oftentimes had, that he needed some time alone, all without saying it. As opposed to him, she wished not to be alone, nor to be stuck in that cellar with those still bodies- she wanted to feel alive, somewhere out in the starlit night where she could remind herself that she was not, in fact, stuck in that pit.

Neda resisted the urge to touch his shoulder and pursed her lips to nod her understanding, but still decided to press her luck. “So, what you’re saying is, you can’t be happy? Why? Is it because of those marks you’ve got on ya?” She scratched her chin and awaited another bout of shouting, only to see Asrael tap his fingers against the countertop. He had never viewed himself a cheery person, but once upon a time- long before this lengthy bout of anhedonia set in, he had felt... different. Something else. He shook his head after a moment’s pause.

“That girl, when she dug around in your mind, she showed you something from your past. That Pit- the one you were trapped in.” She reached for her naked elbows and nodded shamefully- joining him in staring at the shelves upon shelves of cheap liquors. In her peripheral vision, she could see something shift in Asrael’s expression as she said: “Y-yeah... I was-… I am scared of the Pit. I never wanna go back there.”

The necromancer continued pondering aloud and after another drawn-out moment, he offered: “I, too, have a pit. But unlike you, I do not need psychomancer tricks to remind me of it. I suppose it has to do with my genius and my remarkable memory, but my Pit can never be forgotten, nor can I escape it.” He closed his eyes gently to look back at that night- that dreadful, world-shattering, mind-altering night that had left him with scars far more profound than the ones covering most his body. Neda nervously swallowed and gripped her elbows tightly- tremoring with excitement and terror alike... could she continue her courageous digging around in Asrael’s mind? Could she ask-

“Y-you’ve seen my pit...” Asrael took a deep breath and folded his hands atop the counter, but never looked over to meet her red eyes. As sternly as ever, he muttered:

“And so you wish to hear of mine?” Neda could see that Asrael was not being his usual self. Whether he was weakened or strengthened, she could not tell... but this was an opportunity she could not let slip. He saw her nod in his peripheral view and felt a sullen relief loosen some of the weight around his shoulders- a curious, previously unknown sensation.

“Then allow me to tell you a story.”