((mood music))

It was almost four in the morning when she finally returned to her room. The door creaked when she opened it, and she stood at the arch, staring at the devastation. It felt like she hadn't been in the room in weeks - but it had only been one day. Still, the fluff had all settled, and the corner of the room that Hel had tried to fix up was still the only part of the room that wasn't completely covered in broken furniture and ripped up sheets.

Freya closed the door behind her and got to work.

It was liberating, having something to keep your mind busy. She focused all her energy on re-stuffing the pillows and clearing away the remains of her couch. She would need a new one, eventually - but more importantly, her bed was in tatters. She restuffed the mattress, grabbed a needle and thread, and started to stitch up all the shreds that she'd torn through.

Having something to occupy her mind kept her from going down dark paths. She was desperate for occupation. She was desperate to keep herself from thinking, from feeling, from hurting. She refused to mourn.

She threaded the needle, knotted the end, and picked a tear. Her body bent down, curled to the side, sliding the needle into the fabric..

"Well. Yeh failed teh calms me down, but I'm not angry anymore." Freya admitted quietly, raking her nails down his arm. "And I'm glad. I hope yeh knows that I will never loves anyone. Anyone. The way I loves yeh."

She bent in, and kissed his nose. "I will always be in loves with only yeh, baby boil."

The needle threaded through the tear, one side, then the other. She pulled it taut, and the two sides collided in an ugly little scar. Then she did it again.

"And Herryk will only be in loves with his Freya," he murmured softly. "If there is something that Herryk is doing wrong, or something that Herryk could be doing better, Herryk wants to know. Just..."

He gave her an almost-sad, very vulnerable half-smile.

"...do not hurt Herryk." He grasped her hand and rested it, palm down, against his chest. "If Freya ever feels that she cannot be with Herryk, Freya need only say so. Honesty is very important to Herryk, hmm?"

Her fingers shook, and the needle slipped. She cursed at letting her mind wander, and picked up the needle again, charging for the tear anew. Her sweeps had purpose, and determination. Her tears were ignored.

Freya's blush finally faded, if only because her face paled in dismay. The words hit her like a stone in her heart, lodged where it could do as much harm as possible.

"Freya would never.." Her voice faded, and her eyes glistened. Would she? Would she end up hurting Herryk, one day, from sheer stupidity?

She would never be able to live with herself if she hurt him. Her hand rested on his chest where he'd placed it, the palm flattening against where his still heart lay. That pure, gentle, loving heart. She never wanted to cause it anything but joy.

But would she?

"I will always be honests with yeh, Herryk." She whispered, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. "Always."

She plunged the needle into the fabric, but her finger was too close, and the p***k slid into her skin. She let out a soft wail, and pulled her finger away, sucking on it. Her other hand brushed the tears, that had come the moment her memories had returned to haunt her, away.

With one final pull, the tear was stitched up, but the stitch was bulky, and ugly. It truly was a scar, and she knew she couldn't do any better.

She put the needle and thread away, and laid down on her broken bed, limp and lifeless. Her eyes were glazed, and her head throbbed. She was better at keeping the memories at bay when she gave in to the hunger. Everything became lucid, and unfeeling. Her body was light enough to float, and nothing held her to the ground anymore. She could simply fade away..

Somewhere between sleep and awake, there was a moment where even the most impossible of dreams became reality. Where everything was perfect again, just because you willed it so. To float in the unending bliss of hazy, white skies and the touch of love against your skin. Breath, warm and gentle, blowing through your hair. Soaking you in. Making you whole.

No one understood. All everyone ever wanted to do was to take away her one haven, now that she needed it most. When she starved, when she overworked her body until she couldn't see straight, this was where her mind took her. This was it's limit of cognitive function. And it was perfect.

She needed it now, more than ever.