Vaela is pulled from her sleep by the unmistakable sound of a woman suffering.
Loud, echoing sobs reverberate through the suite.
Dramatic, unfiltered and almost operatic in its unwavering tribute to despair.
Vaela jolts up, eyes fluttering against the soft morning sunlight sifting through the tall windows.
"...Lilith?"
Another wailing sob, then a cabinet slamming, a couple of colourful curses and a pained whimper complaining about organs in rebellion.
Vaela groans and rolls out of bed, stumbling toward the racket in the bathroom.
She pokes in her head, sighs and then can't help but giggle.
Inside, she finds Lilith sitting on the toilet, a thick robe drapped over her body, head hanging into her hands. Raven-black hair tumbles down her shoulders in course, tangled waves. Crimson eyes, wet and quivering, peer up at Vaela through blurred misery. And her pale, flawless skin is slightly flushed from pain and shame. Possibly both.
