The damp air hung heavy in the air, the only light filtering through a grimy window high above. Kin Lais awoke to the cold, hard stone beneath him, his bomb-shaped head lolling slightly as he struggled against the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. Skell, a curious blend of shadow and whimsy, circled him, his black wings casting shifting patterns on the wall.

Kin Lais, despite his usual fiery disposition, felt a tremor of something akin to fear. Skell's quiet intensity, usually a source of comfort, now held an edge of frantic desperation. The light on his wick flickered, a reflection of the unease in his telepathic voice.

"Skell," it echoed in Kin Lais' mind, a low rumble, "What is this? Why?"

Skell's voice was a soft murmur, a stark contrast to the wildness in his eyes. "I can't lose you, Kin Lais," he whispered, his pointed fingers tracing patterns over Kin Lais's torn trousers. "You're my light, my chaos, my everything."

Kin Lais couldn't help a flicker of warmth at the confession. He'd always known Skell cared for him, but the intensity of this emotion was overwhelming, almost frightening. Skell's love, it seemed, was as untamed as his own temper.

"Your butterfly wings," Skell continued, his gaze fixed on one of Kin Lais's intricate butterfly wings. "They are beautiful. And you…You're my beautiful butterfly."

Kin Lais, in his bound state, could only shift uneasily. Skell's words, coupled with his frantic circling, made him feel both cherished and trapped. He found himself wishing for the usual teasing banter, the easy comfort of their usual dynamic.

"Skell…," Kin Lais started telepathically, but Skell was already cutting the ropes with a small, sharp tool. His movements were quick, panicked almost, as if he feared Kin Lais would disappear with every passing second.

"Don't go," Skell pleaded, his voice barely a breath. "Please, don't leave me."