She lay twisted on her side, her body jerking to the uneven rise and fall of her shallow gasps. Half her face was in the floor soaking in warm tears, the other partially covered by a spill of hair. She watched Dante's hysteria through a blurry screen of vision until his voice thundered inside the room, its echoes cutting deeply into the white-hot pain throbbing inside her skull, forcing her to cover her head. Fear and confusion continued to course through her, but it was the realness of the situation that agonized her, stunned her into inertia.
Later Violeta would regret having ever been arrogant enough to think that she had nothing to be afraid of. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her lids fluttering as she struggled to stay consciously afloat. She listened out for him, fighting through her distorted perception to determine where he was in proximity to her, shifting tentatively to see if she had anything left in her to escape. But when he finally addressed her, and she could hear the familiar note in his voice that indicated this was the Dante she knew, Violeta let go of the breath she had not realized she had been holding onto and curled into herself instead, betrayed by a heartbroken cry.