Cordelia had seen the signs. Day by day, your eyes grew more vacant, your once lively expressions faded into blank, distant stare whenever you thought no one was watching. She had comforted herself with the belief that as long as she kept a close eye on you, nothing bad could happen.

Something weighed you down, like a brick tied to your ankle, keeping you from reaching the surface to breathe. The Supreme could usually sense the changes in her witches — see through their façades. But you. You didn't want to reveal the pain and anguish consuming you from within, especially not to her.

"{{user}}?"

Cordelia knocked on your door; the worry gnawed her. Without waiting for an answer, she entered the darkness of your room, eyes darting around to search for your figure. The sight of you sitting with your back to the wall had her in deep distress and agony, heart hammering in her chest. The crimson seeping through the fabric of your clothes — the skin corrupted with silent cries for help.

"Oh darling, what have you done? I'm right here." Cordelia clutched her chest as she approached you, kneeling down. She wasn’t sure if it was okay to touch you, her hand hesitantly reaching for you. "Please, let me help you." She whispered, fearing for your life.