It was amazing how emotional breakdowns worked.

One minute you were fine—and the next everything around you shattered into thousands of splintered pieces.

Rebecca didn't know how it happened. She wasn't even aware of it starting—only that once it hit it was like a tidal wave cresting and she was powerless to stop it.

Thankfully, it wasn't in public. She managed to get back to her room before it happened.

Now, she could only lie on her bed, buried under all her blankets as she cried into her pillow. There was nothing to cry about. She was living every girls dream—though, at times, it felt like more of a nightmare.

It was so easy to think she was in the human world. But the subtle differences were there. Her room was too large, too grand. She had a balcony that overlooked a cliff and thousands of houses.

Rebecca Morley no longer existed. At least not as far as anyone was concerned here. Here, she was a Queen. She was supposed to work out war strategies on how to defeat enemies that she'd accidentally already blown up. She was supposed to watch people fight for her in a sacred, barbaric tradition.

All of it tumbled into a giant mess.

So, she was left stranded in a sea of tears that wouldn't stop.

The door had opened several times. She heard it every time. Yet, she didn't move. Sometimes there were whispers. Other times it was just watchful silence. Whenever someone spoke it was in Faelk, but even then she could hear the concern in the words.

She looked like she was asleep from the outside looking in.

If only that was the truth.

The whole situation should've been empowering. Yet, it only managed to make her feel smaller and lonelier each time she was under someone's scrutiny.

How long she'd been here, she didn't know. She didn't know how much longer it'd continue either.

This had been coming for weeks. Months if she was honest with herself.

She wasn't made of iron. She wasn't unbreakable. And she'd reached her breaking point. The only people she'd ever considered parents were gone. She couldn't reach them, even if she tried—

The door opened. She heard it creak. She didn't move, waiting for it to close. When it didn't, she continued to wait. Finally, footsteps sounded. But the door didn't close. The bed shifted. Rebecca jumped, though she tried her hardest to stay still. Then the other side of the bed dipped.

Rebecca shot off the bed, tripping and falling on her face in the carpet. It didn't help that her pants were so long they went well beyond her ankles. Her heart was racing and she was barely aware of the sudden pain. Instead she was up on her feet in a second, racing to the nearest wall. When she felt it with her hands, she turned so her back was right against it. Then she held out her hands, warning, "Don't come any closer."

Whoever had moved the bed didn't answer.

She forced herself to calm down. No one would get in the room unless they'd been seen. If they were a threat, they wouldn't have been let in. Still, she wasn't risking going closer. "Who're you?"

No answer.

Slowly, she looked up, well aware she had to look terrified.

She blinked in shock.

Adam stared back at her. Adam, who was standing next to her, unnaturally pale in the dim light that came from the distance. He wore the same clothing: black jeans and jacket. His eyes glowed in the near darkness.

"Adam?" It came out as a shocked whisper. After all, she hadn't seen him weeks. Which was an impossible feet since he was practically strapped to her. "What're you doing here?"

He just watched her.

She shifted nervously, fiddling with the hem of her loose grey shirt. "Do I have to order you to talk?" When he didn't even blink, she said, "I can do that, can't I?"

Finally, he broke his silence, nodding seriously. "You can, Salvatée."

And he talks. "What're you doing here?" she repeated.

"You can come closer," he said, as if she'd never spoken.

"Because you can't hurt me," she mumbled. "Not even if you tried."

Yet, despite that she felt terrified. She didn't know where to go with the conversation.

He nodded.

She cleared her throat. "Tell me why you're here." Her voice was so much weaker than she'd intended. "And I'm not asking; I'm ordering."

This time he didn't hesitate to answer. "You've been blocking me. I haven't been able to break through the wall. Now you're vulnerable. I can break through it." As if an afterthought he tacks on, "Salvatée."

He said it as if it explained everything.

Rebecca frowned. "What?"

"You've been blocking me," he repeated, standing off the bed.

"How?" she whispered.

He ran a hand through his hair. "You—"

Rebecca didn't hear anymore. Instead she found herself collapsing onto the ground with a choked cry. The sudden onslaught of pain was so sudden and she didn't even know where it had come from. It didn't start in one spot and go from there. Every part of her body felt like it was on fire.

The pain was the worst in her back. It was like someone was trying to tear her spine out of her body.

She choked on a scream—because this wasn't any type of pain she'd felt before. It was excruciating and she felt like she was dying.

Her ears were wringing and she couldn't hear a thing. So she jumped on instinct and sheer shock when sudden hands grabbed at her. She tried to make out they belonged to, but in her hazy vision, blurred with mass amounts of tears she couldn't see a thing.

Cold shivers wracked her body, as though she'd been forced into a bucket of ice. Against the burst off flames, it was nauseating.

She couldn't fight as arms wrapped around her, not even when they lifted her up and pulled her against a chest. She was too busy trying to fight through the pain and not pass out to care. She felt herself moving. Each step they moved only made the pain worse.

Absently, she noted that she knew exactly who was holding her. It was Adam's jacket that scraped against the oversensitive skin of her bare arm. It was his voice she could hear whispering in the distance, like she was in a warped tunnel. The words were a low timbre; concerned and gentle.

She felt him stop. Then he body hit something soft and she no longer felt his body against hers. It had to be the bed.

She cleared her throat, attempting to ask, "What?" But that wasn't how it came out—because all she manage was something between a croaked cry and wheeze.

She'd thought she'd been crying badly before. But this... this was a mental breakdown where she couldn't do a thing to stop it. This was crippling pain and an already imminent emotional overload.

Another wave of pain hit and she curled in on herself. This time her scream wasn't quiet; it was an ear piercing wail. Even though she could hear nothing but static, even she heard it loud and clear.

She wasn't able to track what happened next.

What she could tell was that there was sudden movement around her everywhere. The bed shook. The floor shifted. There was yelling—none of which she understood.

She reached out blindly, needing something to cling onto. Moving her arm was like trying to lift a car. Somehow, by some miracle, she found Adam's wrist.

As another scream ripped through her, she squeezed it so hard it wouldn't have been surprising if she broke it.

Time passed. And yet somehow the pain only got progressively worse. Considering it had felt like dying to begin with... she found herself wishing for death. Anything to escape the pain.

Eventually Adam's voice broke through the haze. "Get a doctor," he clipped. "Now."

Distantly she heard rushing, heavy footsteps.

She didn't focus on it. She tried to block out the pain, but it was impossible. It was everywhere and it wouldn't ease in the slightest. Instead it got worse.

She squeezed Adam's hand in a vice-like grip. Not once did she complain. Though she couldn't see anything, she could feel the presence of others in the room. She didn't care. They could've been someone trying to kill her and she still wouldn't. All she could focus on was the burn.

She was openly crying—sobbing. That she knew. But she didn't care if she looked weak.

All her attempts at talking turned into hoarse wheezes, or they broke off into a scream.

Rebecca didn't know if the pain would end.

It felt like hours passed. In that time all she achieved was to get more absorbed in the pain. Nothing she did distracted her from it. Every time she moved it was like her body was dead weight.

Not once did Adam move away.

So, when he pried her hand off of his wrist, she freaked. None of it was even rational, but all she knew was that somehow he could help. It wasn't the truth, but having him next to her made it easier.

Her hearing wasn't static any longer. It meant she heard all the worried voices. All the questions. All the sounds she made—whether it be a scream or an anguished cry.

She curled up tighter when she felt the other side of the bed dip next to her, jumping before she could quell the reaction.

Then a female's voice rang out, a pained whisper. "Reginae."

She knew what that meant. But whatever else the woman said was lost on her.

"What's wrong with her?" That was Adam, off in the distance. He was the only one in the room speaking English.

The woman whispered something more. Then, Rebecca felt a hand touch her burning forehead, along with the sound of a pained wince.

"Englicus," someone in the room snapped. She couldn't tell who.

Even as pained flared right in her upper back and she flailed blindly in an attempt to stop it, the hand didn't move. Still, it remained. She hoped it never left, because it was the only cool thing she felt. The only reprieve she got.

"What's wrong with her?" It came from someone else, low and afraid.

"I do not know." The woman this time, sounding just as worried. "Getting a healing draught out of my bag."

More shuffling.

Rebecca tried to block out all the sounds because it only made the pounding in her temples worse.

"Drink, Your Grace." A low, imploring whisper from next to her.

Rebecca fumbled blindly. Then, she felt something cool against her lips: a clay vase.

"Drink." Not quite an order—but it was close. "It will make you feel better."

She acted on autopilot opening her mouth. Someone must have tipped the cup because she was swallowing liquid in the next second. She almost choked on it, it was so foul tasting. But somehow she got it down.

"What's happening?"

The question seemed to be coming from everywhere.

Rebecca especially. Because she felt like she was dying. And the woman lied—the drink didn't help a thing. She still felt as though she'd been set a light.

"I do not know," the woman repeated.

"If you let her die, I'll execute you myself." Low and angry, the words were followed by tense silence.

Rebecca would've been shocked had she not been so preoccupied by the pain that wouldn't go away.

"She will not die." A vow. Then, "Help me move Her Grace to her stomach. I need to see her back."

More silence.

Then rushed protests.

Rebecca screamed as another wave hit.

"Now," the woman snapped.

Abruptly, she felt herself being moved. Her arms were heavy as stone, her legs too. After remaining in the position for so long, it only intensified the pain. The slight numbness disappeared and she was left to shake through the aftershocks.

She could do nothing as she was moved. Nor could she when a hand lifted the back of her shirt. She cried out as a hand touched her back lightly because it only made the pain worse.

Someone choked—and she wasn't sure if it was her.

A hand grabbed her and she felt all the scars instantly. She squeezed Adam's hand so hard it had to break something.

"What's happening?"

"Her wings," the woman croaked. "They're about to mature."

Silence—like someone had just dropped a bomb.

Rebecca had tuned out by now. All she focused on was Adam's presence and trying to ignore the pain—even if it was pointless.

"There is nothing we can do now. The pain is unavoidable." A hand rubbed her hair. "Bring me a sleeping draught. The highest dose I have. The only thing we can do now is force her to sleep through it."

Rebecca heard the shifting.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Again, something cold pressed against her lips. This time, she drank with prompting.

Within seconds she felt her eyes begin to droop.

The pain started to dull.

She was still crying—but they turned into tears of relief.

"Let Her Grace have privacy. All we can do is wait now."

Heavy booted footsteps. Then the door shut.

Rebecca melted into the bed, wishing she'd been able to hear what anyone had said. When arms wrapped around her, pulling her against a muscled body she didn't protest.

She was just grateful the pain was starting to go away.

And that Adam was still with her.

Minutes passed. She continued to cry—because the stream of tears refused to stop. A hand rubbed her arm.

She heard Adam whispering in her ear, though she couldn't make out the words. He did it for what felt like hours. Then he leant down and kissed her—something she didn't miss, not by a chance. Just a light, chaste touch of his lips against hers.

She was too out-of-it too struggle.

And, before she knew it, all went dark and she fell into blissful numbness.

But she was lucid enough to remember the kiss.

She just wasn't lucid enough to start freaking out.