Layla had left him.
Betrayed him in the one way that mattered.
She hadn't even stayed long enough to see how much of himself he had burned away trying to keep her safe. How every step he took afterward was a slow march toward a death he would never be allowed to have.
Layla didn't deserve to be called his wife.
She didn't deserve to be called anything at all.
Her father was dead. Again. And she watched it, again.
She had been too late the first time. Blind.
Too cruel the second... too damn cruel.
And now, there was nothing left to do but stand here, knees shaking, stomach twisting, hands trembling like a coward.
"Haaaaaaaa—"
A sharp inhale.
She nearly collapsed.
A strong grip caught her.
Safira.
"...T-Thanks."
Layla didn't look at her, couldn't. If she did, she would break.
Her body ached with the need to run, to crumble, to stop being, but she stood there, silent, watching the projection close its metaphorical curtains.
{Volume 4: I Saw a Dream}
