She had not meant to find her like this, or at least that was the explanation Black Swan settled on first. It was easier than admitting she had followed the disturbance on purpose. The aftertaste of something burned had lingered in the dreamscape, the kind of absence that only appeared after catastrophe. Anyone attentive to dreams would have noticed it eventually, and Black Swan liked to think she was nothing if not attentive.

The space itself looked unfinished, or in this case, was slowly burning away from the nihility. The air carried a faint warmth, not fire exactly, but the memory of it. Black Swan paused at the edge of the distortion and took it in, cataloguing the damage.

Then, she saw Constance.

The devilish woman was folded inward without quite slumping. Thankfully she was not collapsed, she was enduring, and there was a difference, even if it was not a flattering one.

After everything that had happened, this was what remained.

Black Swan did not move closer right away. She watched instead. Constance’s breathing was slow and deliberate, as if each breath had to be rationed. One hand rested against her side, not clutching, simply placed there with awareness. The pain was ongoing, then, and not fading. That was no surprise.

It should have been enough to confirm what Black Swan already knew. She had anticipated the damage and warned others, quietly, that the cost would not be small. Seeing it should have brought some sense of satisfaction, some proof that her judgment had been correct.

Instead, something tightened uncomfortably in her chest. Even if the woman was unbearable, Black Swan didn’t want to see her like this.

When she stepped forward at last, she was careful not to startle the space itself. Constance had earned the right to feel where she was.

“There you are.” Black Swan murmured, letting go of a breath she had been holding. “This isn’t the most ideal place to stay in your condition.”