Shit! Shit! Shit! Nessa! Fuck!
'Oh my! Host, what to do?!'
'I don't know!'
Lavayla didn't think; she lifted both hands slowly, palms out, as if she were trying to soothe an enormous, unpredictable animal. Her voice dropped to the softest, most cautious tone she'd ever used in her life.
"Okay… listen. I know this is going to sound insane, but you're not actually seeing what you think you're seeing."
Tark didn't move. His eyes, dark and unblinking, tracked every twitch of her fingers.
She forced a weak smile. "Whatever's happening right now — me standing here, talking, existing — that's all just your imagination. Really. You're injured, you're bleeding like three different shades of red, and you definitely smashed your skull against a tree at least once, so… hallucinations? Completely normal."
Nothing. Not a blink. Not a twitch.
