RP: He had watched the video Characters: Balthazar Time/Date: Late evening, October 20 Location: old island, his room Warnings/Rating: Your mom. Jk. None. Summary: Balt is sad. Status: Complete
He had watched the video more than once. Each time Matt had pulled the sheet back to reveal Lily's bloodied body, it had felt like someone had punched a hole through his chest, grasping his heart and wrenching it out. The images that followed were just an extra kick while he was down. Yet he watched it, searching for any sign that it might have been fake. It felt unreal, too sudden, and he was having difficulty making it make sense. He had spoken with Lily over the network just last night, and then this morning, she was gone?
While it was sort of sick, he wanted to believe that they wouldn't actually kill Lily because they liked to torment her entirely too much. She seemed to be a pet project at times and he thought their captors were many things, but careless wasn't one of them.
Most of the day was spent in a haze. He had read the network, thought he should comment on Tristan's post, offering his magical services, but it had also seemed like a horrible amount of effort and he just hadn't had it in him yet. It wasn't like him to wallow, but the situation was different from any he had encountered in his many years in the world. People came and went, life moved on and so did he, but here ... here was stagnant, stuck, moving only when sadistic puppeteers pulled their strings. At home, he had always been moving towards a goal -- he knew what actions he had to take, knew how to save Veronica, how to vanquish the evil behind it all. Here, he was as powerless as the heads decided to make him.
Stretched out on his bed, doing nothing more than staring at the ceiling, he decided to check the network one more time before attempting to sleep. When he read the post about what movies could do, he knew it was foolish to hope, but he allowed it. They had lied about killing everyone on this island in an earthquake, after all (unless they still planned to do so). They could lie about this. So he gave himself a week. A week to hold onto the idea that they were all still alive, that everyone would be reunited, that he would see her again, hold her, fall asleep next to her.
A week was hardly any time at all when one had lived for twelve hundred years, but he hoped it was long enough for their captors to tire of this particular game and prove him right.