Sofiel spends the next couple hours slipping in and out of consciousness. Each time she blinks or so much as cracks an eyelid open, the world appears to be in some kind of a whirl. It blazes bright in a trail of technicolour that makes her head spin and her eyes hurt.

Everything feels numb, as if Sofiel is floating through a fevered dream. She's lying in Abigail's bed, that much she is aware of, and she takes comfort in being surrounded by her scent. But there are voices around her that she doesn't recognise – hushed mumblings that make no sense at all.

At one point, a pair of unfamiliar gloved hands seem to loom over her, touching and prodding at her. It's all so very disconcerting that for the first time since her creation, Sofiel feels scared.

So, she panics.

Her breathing begins to quicken, speeding till she's gulping air in rapid pants. She squirms and writhes, trying to rid herself of the touch that feels so foreign – so invasive.

So unfamiliar. She wants it to stop.

"Hey, hey, hey. Sofiel, it's okay."

A warm hand touches her cheek, and Sofiel recoils back with a jolt. In that very instant, she finds herself staring up into the face of one Abigail Hope.

Her cheeks are blotchy, and her eyes are bloodshot, red around its rims. Though, they're still that vivid shade of sunny blue; warm and kind, all the same. Familiar.

When Abigail moves in to properly cradle Sofiel's face, it's with such gentleness that it almost makes her heart aches.

"It's okay," she croons quietly, blue eyes earnest, but tired.

And Sofiel believes her.

Just like that, she ceases in her struggles and melted right into the mortal's touch.

"I've done everything I can, Abigail."

Sofiel tenses with a sharp inhale. Eyes that had fluttered shut, snap open to blearily focus onto the newcomer standing next to Abigail by her bedside. It's not anyone Sofiel has seen before. But the stranger looks decidedly dour, her short burgundy hair swept stylishly over to her side, framing her grim expression.

"But with the stigma still spreading and so close to her wound, there's little I can do about it."

She has one of those round metal loopy things ­– that Sofiel for the life of her can't remember what they're called­ – around her neck, and she wonders if she's one of those modern-day healers that the mortals call 'doctors'. When their gazes cross, Sofiel stiffens reflexively, realising belatedly that the mortal is actually looking at her.

Sofiel's heart rate picks up. She doesn't even notice that she has started hyperventilating until she feels the warm brush of Abigail's fingers against her clammy skin, pushing a lock of stray hair out of her face. The action soothes Sofiel immediately. She deflates, the tension in her shoulders easing as she sinks back into her pillow – into the cradle of Abigail's familiar scent.

"Thank you, Leah," Abigail murmurs quietly to the stranger beside her. Though, her eyes remain steadfastly fixed on Sofiel's face, never once straying.

The other mortal – Leah – sighs, rests her hand on Abigail's shoulder, and squeezes. "You need to do a purification before it's too late," she says quietly, her lips pinched into a frown.

"I know, I know..." Now, it's Abigail's turn to sigh. her fingers absently trace over the apple of Sofiel's cheek in small, soothing circles. "I'm waiting on Noah for that."

Leah's expression tightens just much so, her frown deepening in clear disapproval. "If you say so."

Sofiel blinks drowsily between the two mortals, suddenly feeling a wave of extreme exhaustion crashing over her. But try as she might to keep up with the conversation, she soon ends up succumbing to the alluring darkness that has been calling out to her.