Classical Conditioning.

As Aresenn burst into the den, Absinth lay among the aftermath of her breakdown, her body trembling with a blend of fear and exhaustion. She flinched at his entrance, hackles bristling as she fought to rise and assume a defensive posture. Seeing him evoked conflicting emotions - relief at his presence, yet deep-seated dread at the severity of the situation. She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding free, causing her chest to heave and rapidly suck in and out more oxygen as she fell back to the floor again.

His voice, a mix of anger and concern, demanded answers, his footsteps resonating in the confined space. Absinth struggled to articulate, her throat dry and tight. His voice, brimming with fury, shattered the silence that had only been disturbed by her struggles. ‘Who did this?’ He utterly demanded, his words reverberating in the small room. She could sense the turmoil within him, mirroring the chaos threatening to overwhelm her. Fuck!

As he drew nearer, his presence felt to her, a lifeline and she struggled to find the words to answer him. Every breath was a battle, every syllable weighed down by the weight of her hysteria. The air felt like a curse she was forced to suck down to survive. She could only meet his gaze, her eyes wild with panic and tinged with hatred, though none of it directed at him. The words almost choked her as she forced them out. And still, they came rolling off her tongue in a gag, bile threatening to spill forth as she uttered the name. “Setekh.” Summoning her remaining strength, Absinth pushed herself up slightly, meeting his gaze with defiance and vulnerability. “He found me-! He's here! In the shadows, watching me-! Shit! He attacked Yarrabelle! He fucking warned her- he was after me!” Absinth, despite her usual bravado and wickedry, gasped out, her weakened frame lurching to lean into him, seeking his support. She needed an anchor, and he was it. Of course he was. Her mind was still reeling, trying to ground herself, trying to make sense of how this could have happened. Was her father truly a God? How could he have found her? "I- I don't understand why-- why I'm so... afraid." She huffed, her lips curling into a smirk as she laughed, and laughed.  But she did know, oh she knew. His fury. He had to be angry with her. Angry that she left the place he'd left her. That she hadn't been a good little girl.

wormwood