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The stare deeply unsettled the witch for reasons she couldn't even fully comprehend, but the biggest of them was the fact that it looked so much like him, but it was just slightly off. The orange was too vibrant, the lack of glasses made her ache and his dark hair was all wrong. With a startling pang the witch realized how much the blue had been him, how heavy a hand it had had in her attraction to him and now... Now she was all confused and jumbled up. When her feet touched the ground, Belladonna was so mixed up she was sure she was going to crash straight down into a tumbled heap of pink yarn, as she felt so thin and small.
For a moment she took a step backwards, to make her escape... But he didn't even bother. Even if she ran, he'd probably let her go.
Still him, still Mort.

At his words, the witch visibly winced and diverted her gaze to the floor.
Liar, liar, liar.
"That's not... Its not..."
Don't take the bait, don't fall into the pit, its a trap, its--
"I do want this! You're not doing anything wrong..."
Just not now. Now with you looking so out of sorts and strange.
"I'm very new to this..."
Keep stalling, keep calm. Something's wrong, but we'll fix it.
Maybe that was why she hadn't run yet. With all her false smiles and cheer, the witch thought she could fix anything on the power of her will alone.

"That's not what I was going to say and you know it!" The witch countered angrily, her fists clenched suddenly. When he walked away, she whirled around to face him, but was confused by his actions. What was he looking for?
As for his little speech, the witch grew angrier with each word, but certainly a little hurt. Her nickname rankled her to further anger, and she stomped over to him and shoved a finger under his chin.
"You do more than enough for this school, but that was your jackdamn choice. Don't you dare act like I don't do anything for you." Her voice was low, but strong enough to unclear her head. Mostly. "Whatever you want from me, you've got and you know that. But don't guilt trip me. You want something, you do it from love and not from a place of obligation. The same goes for me."

But she still softened, worry still loosened the anger and she let her finger instead turn into a hand she gently placed against his chest. What if she hadn't done enough for him? She'd always known that merely being there for him would one day grow too little, but she didn't think it would be so soon. And she didn't think he would immediately turn to this, not so quickly. In any event she lost her anger and looked up at him with concern.
"What can I do to help?"

Whatever anger had previously dissolved from the witch came surging back in a wave that surprised her enough that in retaliation she shouted, "Its corseted you b*****d, you have to unlace it!" as she whirled so that her back faced him. Both hands slammed to her hips and she surveyed the room.
Batshit, this was the opposite of what you wanted!
Oh my Hecate, I just called Mort a b*****d. That's so insensitive! BECAUSE HE IS!! OH HECATE HECATE
The tumultuous thoughts worried the witch enough that whatever fear of getting undressed prematurely she had had melted away until she realized...
"Its a dress. Its all connected..."

That would mean... Should he, in fact, manage through all those laces that he'd have free reign over everything. But, it was ok! Those laces covered her from right under her shoulder blades to her tail bone, so its not like he could get them out that easily! Unlacing a corset required fine motor skills and a steady hand, so maybe the witch could buy herself some time while he was busy with that.
Unless he rips them, you twit.
But then there was the petticoat to deal with, as well as bloomers and then undercorset. HA. He wasn't going to get this easily!
Which really should have been the point Belladonna told him to stop because it was all wrong, but she still felt just awful about the b*****d comment so she let it go.

The tiniest squeak escaped the witch, and the only thing she could think for the small duration of time in between his words were All my hard work! This dress was a new prototype, if he liked it I would make more! My dresssssss.
Unfortunately for the witch, she was still facing away from him, so she missed the minor switch. Had she seen it, had she even caught a glimpse of it, Belladonna would have been on the boil in a flash. Every spell she knew would have been utter, every counter curse, anything she could think of to right what she knew was wrong. But as it were, the witch didn't see it, so should couldn't stop him.

Instead she felt one of his hands grip the lacing and she braced herself, as though expecting a punch. When the hand pulled away forcibly, when the satin laces gave way without even a fight, when the grommets that held the laces ripped with a sickening pull of fabric Belladonna only let out a tiny cry of dismay. She had always wanted someone to rip off her clothing in a fit of passion, but not like this. Not in anger.
Both hands pressed the front, still unmangled portion of her dress to her, and Belladonna took a deep breath. She could turn around and be brave and do this, or she could fight.
One curious hand snaked behind to see to what extent the damage had been done and in a second later the witch had whirled back around to face the boil.
"You destroyed it!"
And it was true. The entire lacing portion had been pulled off, but so had majority of the back. From under the corset and almost to the bottom where the dress ended at her knees, there was a large, gaping and jagged hole.
"You were just supposed to pull out the laces! Not the entire back!!" She cried in dismay, twisting so that she could inspect the damage.
My pretty dress...

One tiny cry of defeat was all Belladonna was granted before she was ruthlessly shoved against the wall. Another little cry tried to escape before Mort captured it and for one small moment, the witch gave up. This was what she wanted, she wanted him and she had him but it was so bittersweet that it started to break her. And when a hand found her, when a rough hand groped for her the witch let out a shriek. At least she tried, because before it could be fully vocalized his mouth was pressed against her's and he mumbled her name and that was all she wanted. To be a part of this too. But a pain shot through her as her hair was pulled, as she was pushed too hard, grabbed too fiercely.
The jumbled up emotions were still all mixed up and turned around, but the witch knew she had to get out. Out from under him she could fight better, could get a handle on the situation. Though she was captured by his larger size, she could still fight back.
Both hands weren't yet trapped, so Belladonna flexed them so that her palms faced outward and if anyone had been paying attention, they would have noticed the glow. It started red, but quickly faded to a dull pink that ached but of which Belladonna would not cease.
Just as her hands were the proper temperature to cause discomfort, she was released.

For what felt like the first time in ages she gasped for breath, her eyes wide as she watched him tilt at dangerous angles. With a quick look at her hands, she saw the fading pink and wondered vaguely if she had burned him after all. When he crashed to the ground, the witch let out a cry. Two quick shakes took the glow from her hands and two more shakes had them back to normal body temperature. She pitched herself forward toward him, skidding awkwardly to her knees and burning the heels of her hands against the floor as she fell down before him.
"Mort, Mort, Oh Hecate, are you ok?!" What could she do? How could she help? Just as she was about to touch him, the color beneath his elbow shifted. To blue.
A strangled noise fluttered from the witch and she watched with wide eyes as he shifted back.
Once all the colors seemed normal, once his hair was that perfect shade of steel blue, Belladonna took a breath and placed the very tip of a finger to his skin.
"Are you alright?" She whispered, as though her voice might break him or his revert back to normalcy or even herself.
Belladonna sat there, her dress half torn off and pooled around her waist, her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed, eyebrows pinched in worry. This looked really, really bad.

The flinch wasn't good, but it wasn't the defeat it could have been. If he flinched, it means he was there and able. Belladonna could work with that.
Both hands grabbed at his knees, gingerly, but still with enough force to let him know she wasn't going anywhere. She took a deep breath, was about to say something but then a small noise echoed behind her. The witch leaned back, uncertain of what was going on but knowing it was bad. The muffled cry didn't ease her worries but only furthered them. What was going on?!
Curiosity dictated that she investigate, that she crawl over to the bed and lift up the blanket to see what was hidden, what had broken, what had caused him to cry out. But curiosity was easily set aside in a moment like this, as Mort was vastly more important. When he was safe, then she would question.
In any event, he stilled and Belladonna replaced her hands, ready to start anew.
"Mort, come back to me. Please." What more could she say, what more could she do? Could she hold him? Would that be alright? "You're color is back, you're you. That... That wasn't you. Please."

Though it was strange as he was all huddled up, Belladonna leaned forward and did her best to wrap her arms around him. She buried her face into whatever place she could reach and tried not to cry. This was not the time for that. This was the time for her to be strong and let him break in whatever way he choose. Something awful had happened, but she could fix this still.
"You promised to always come back to me. And I still need you. I still...Want you."
It didn't matter if he responded or not, she would continue to talk until he did. She could do this for him. Of all things, she could be the light and the earth and ground him and bring him back from this darkness that had taken him.
Still, somewhere in the back of her mind, very quietly and with the tiniest little voice whispered, Damn Medea and her quest.

The groan, while not very good, was still better than silence and Belladonna pulled her head back. For whatever reason she was hesitant to pull him physically, but it was hard to be effective emotionally when all she had were words. Without him speaking, she had no heading, she had no sense of direction. Did he feel poorly about what had happened? Or was this the little glass that had shattered?
"Please, Mort. Are you alright? Just answer me, please."
The silence stretched on and the witch, while not angry, was certainly getting desperate. A hand raked through his hair, uncertain of what else to do. She was just as lost as he, not sure what road to take.
For the millionth time today, Belladonna questioned what exactly was going on.

"Mortimer, I need you to listen to me very carefully." She began quietly, dropping her face so that she could see the rise of his brow between his knees. It was an awkward position that meant she had to drop the hug, but her hands still remained on him, now positioned on his arm. "Mort, if you're hurt or something is wrong, let me know. I can heal you." Just in case, the witch thought of the most healing thing she could and pressed a kiss to his forehead. It might not do any good, but it was worth a try. But, why wasn't he talking? He had been so eloquent before and now, nothing? "As your Sorceress Princess I ask this, please tell me what's wrong."
Though she had sorely been tempted, the witch felt she could demand nothing of her poor broken love.