Trapped, a blood-clogged sawblade being raked mercilessly through the throat of a clerk, Cecelia openly gaped at the sight before shutting her mouth tight, summoning every drop of her composure. “…Whatever you’re after, you’ll not find the answer in a severed trachea. If you must, however, please be quick about it…my dear cockerel.”
——

Though his blood lust was out of control and his heart pounded so hard that he could feel it in his head, Eric was not so far gone that her ever-reasonable voice could not reach him. He froze, gaze gentle on her and fingers and blade painted in crimson. He couldn’t. … He couldn’t do it. 

Eric dropped his scythe and reached for her, murmuring a soft and desperate, “ … Cecelia."