If this were a nightmare, she'd scream herself awake. Instead, she jams her teeth down around the urge, uttering something miserable and strangled. Her hands perch on her hips, fingers pressing into her shirt, snaring the fabric. She turns side on, to shield herself from his body.

It's real enough that she longs to go to him, to kneel and wipe the blood from his nose and lips with her thumbs. He should have something softer to rest his head on than the floor, but she's scared to touch him. For all she knows that could make it real. What if it brought him here? She can't have him dead in Thedas, too.

Voices thread through the air, tangling–

"Is he still in the fucking building?"

Silence. Then– "Abby." Low, panicked, "Abby, don't look–"

Two clues for the silent spectator she forgot was standing there until his steady hand finds her shoulder, anchoring her to the spot. A third and final rings out from behind them both: her own, agonised keening–

"Dad. Dad!"

Abby crumples, lower lip shivering.

Scrunching her eyes shut won't block out the sound of broken sobbing in the background, but her arms are heavy, leaden with shock. Is it not enough? Is something out there not satisfied with the torture?

"Stop," she whimpers, voice wet with tears, curling inward toward Astarion. She'd put just about anything between herself and the wretched pain, "Stop it, please-"