#|| lucy

Lucy's heart skipped a beat as a head broke the water's surface, and she took a step backwards to steel her nerves. She could see a man now-- or at least a portion of him-- out there in the murky waters. Lowering her light so as not to blind him, she offered a wave.

"Only to learn," She called back in answer, though was hesitant to be too loud, lest she attract the attention of curious neighbors. "And to help, if possible. My name is Miss West, and I've come from the Dee Society. Have you heard of us?"

She couldn't see very well in the darkness, but from what she could gather at the shore, he seemed to be a merman. But how had he gotten here, in a reservoir pond in Enfield? Not quite the prehistoric beast of which she had been warned. The Community Association had been on the verge of pitchforks and torches, if only they knew where their gardeners kept such objects.

I've been a bad, bad girl

It struck Lucy as rather odd that she could still see such a thing, lacking eyes. Did that mean she was dead? Weird, it didn't feel like she had died, only things had gone all third-persony in the last few minutes or so it seemed. She looked very small, she felt, looking down at her body lying in a growing pool of blood. Rather like a Rothko, she mused, and the thought made her feel sick inside. Is that all she was, in the end? Art?

And that stain would never come out of the hardwood floor.

Of course she knew what she should say: and what would that be? But Lucy did not say anything at all. She only watched the man within his plexiglass cell, pacing like a caged animal. She didn't begrudge him that-- he was caged.

But neither did she engage with him in his desperate game of verbal chess. She had been warned that he would lead her in with simple ideas, then subtly suggesting the outcome-- one always in keeping with his vision.

That was what the file had said, anyway. A deeply tragic set of circumstances.

I am what I am.

She folded her hands before herself, observing him pace with a look of quiet concern. Listening.

"With all due respect, my Lord,"

Lucy stepped in between the Dream-weaver (now towering over them all by leagues) and the Nightmare, as if she might somehow shield him from his own creator.

"If you un-make him, how is he to learn differently?"

"What would I do without you, poor thing."

Arms crossed, Lucy parrots the Nightmare's words back to him in a mocking tone. What was he going to do, try to kill her? Can't play that card twice. She held herself back from an overwhelming urge to stick her tongue out at him.