Lucistra wanders the streets of the real world, alone, hungry, searching for something, anything, to latch onto. Her stomach grumbles furiously. "Shut up," she hisses, looking around to make sure nobody has heard. Her eyes fall on dozens of people, none taking the slightest bit of interest in her; going about their daily lives completely oblivious to her existence. You're not welcome here, she thinks. Sinistra's voice. A memory. The last words her mother ever spoke to her. Images of Sinistra and her bitch slut Tracy race through her mind. She imagines them now, back in Sarodor, Sinistra hovering over Tracy's bed, nursing her back to health. She imagines Sinistra kissing the young girl's battered forehead, stroking her hair, whispering soothing words, all the while weeping, praying desperately for the girl who should have been her daughter to please, please wake up. "As for me," Lucistra whispers, looking around again to make sure nobody has heard, but unable to stop the flood of words. "As for your true daughter, your flesh and blood...you don't care about me at all, do you?" A girl laughs. Lucistra spins around, her hand plunging into the bag at her side, fingers clutching the grip of the pistol inside. But the laugh did not belong to Sinistra or Tracy; nor a dining room full of cruel, teenaged Vixens; just a little girl in the real world, finding amusement in a face her daddy just pulled. Her daddy picks her up, laughing, and hugs her, planting loud wet kisses on her cheek between her fits of giggles. Lucistra watches this display of affection with tight-mouthed fascination. Affection. Love. Oh, how she longs for somebody to care for her. For somebody to love her. She squeezes her eyes shut, on the verge of streaming tears. She clenches her fists. Her heart throbs huge and heavy in her chest, feeling like it could explode with the sheer weight of her misery. She turns on her heel and walks blindly through the city, her eyes and ears closed to the people passing by. I'm all alone, she thinks. I'm surrounded by hundreds of people, but completely alone. Nobody loves me. Nobody cares about me. The last thought catches in her mind, building in volume and intensity, gradually becoming a screaming shriek of despair. nobody cares about me nobody cares about me NOBODY CARES ABOUT ME Suddenly the screams fall silent. Lucistra stops and looks up. Tim's apartment building. Her finger is on the intercom's call button before she even realises her intent to press it. The intercom buzzes for a few seconds, a period Lucistra finds herself hoping, praying, that Tim won't be home. The darkest corners of her mind relish the pain of loneliness, desperate to stay focused on the business of being miserable, relishing the decline into intense agony that will most likely lead to seeking release through the brutal end of an innocent's life, or perhaps her own. The buzzing stops. "Tim here." Lucistra's body goes rigid. She finds herself unable to speak, unable to think about anything but how relieved she is at the sound of Tim's voice. And how foolish she was to come here. "Hello?" he says. "It's me," Lucistra says, all too aware of the edge of desprerate glee in her voice. And hating it. And loving it. "It's Lucy." "Lucy!" he says, sounding genuinely happy to hear her voice. "How are you going? Want to come up?" "I'm...I'm hungry." "Then I'll come right down," Tim says, sounding cheerful. "Let's grab a bite. See you in a couple of minutes." The intercom shuts off. Lucistra collapses against the wall of the apartment building. Exhausted. And excited. Credits: La Sombra by Dark_Whisper Dystopia buildings from Free Section