Claire wondered. Did Jim hate her? Did he go into the Darklands thinking she was dead after what looked like a heroic sacrifice on her behalf – despite the fact she'd sealed herself for a fate worse than if she'd submitted to martyrdom? Did he even stop for one second? He let his heart rule his mind and they were left suffering the heartbreak. Yet .. she did not think ill of him, at first. Her thoughts turned inward, sour and bitter and befouling with scalding comments and reflective spite that could only be made introspectively.

She shuffled into her house like her body moved autonomously. She was still soaking wet, though it had dried off into a dampness that clung like an icy blanket and bit into her bone. Everything was numb, her hair stuck stubbornly to her face like needles as she brushed the straggly strands out from her misty gaze. She passed a mirror on her way to the stairs, and she paused to look at the morose young woman staring blankly back. She looked like a ghost of herself, the sigil that had burned so harshly before, now nothing more than a gentle, faded imprint.

As she hobbled up the stairs her footfalls was joined by the foreboding off-beat of the staff thunking onto every other step. It hadn't retracted like she'd expected it would have, but it was oddly quiet. No silent, ghastly wails straining in her ear-drums like noise she couldn't quite hear. It was slumbering and pure white. It was content to feast slowly, imperceptible nibbles at a time. She shifted the staff to her submissive hand as her dominant reached for the towel cupboard in the bathroom, pulling out a sizeable one to sink her face into.

She thought about sleeping. She felt so unnaturally tired, but Claire knew that if she did not warm up, then come the morning she would be sick as a dog. She'd never done well to handle the cold. A hot bath was drawn, and peeling out of sticky, wet clothes she gave one last pitiful look at her favourite band t-shirt before discarding the lot in the hamper. The scorching heat of the hot water was a momentary comfort, but one she did not find herself appreciating.

She sat rigid in the tub, knees drawn, head resting on her propped knees and arms encircled around herself, gazing distantly at the tiles of the wall. Jim had promised them.. they would all go together – and yet, she felt so responsible for his decision. She doubted he had any desire to fight the dreaded Gunmar in his own prison. No, he was rescuing her brother and hoping to survive along the way. God, why had he done it!? He – he didn't even say goodbye.

Claire sunk in the water, almost entirely submerged as she stewed. A soft splash was heard as she rose her hands – staring at the blistered skin of her palms from where the Inferna Copula had burned her. Who was she to scorn James Lake Jr? Her fate was magically bound to another's. Her destiny altered because she wanted to do what she thought was the right thing to do.

Was it right of her to accept Morgan le Fay's proposal? She should've denied her and died at the hands of her pet troll. Now.. who knows what would become of her. It was foolish of her to think that she had done anything other than seal her future to whatever dark plans the fae had in mind, just like Angor Rot had when he visited Morgan all those years ago. Did she honestly think she would be able to control the dark magic..?

She had to try.

Angor Rot.. She didn't know if there was any language available that could properly convey how much she hated him. Claire thought she was helping – truly helping the sadistic assassin – to be free and he'd played her like a fiddle. Why, oh why, did she expect anything less? Like a flash fire that only burned more intensely water tried to douse it, she dreaded to think there had been many like her before her time that had thought they saw the good in him. How many had he manipulated for Morgan? How many poor, unfortunate souls had been ripe for the taking to their dark cause?

Claire snapped out of her thoughts when her scrubbing was beginning to hurt; turning her pale skin, flushed with the heat, an angry red. As if she could just wash it all away.

At the very least, the bath refreshed her and she padded silently to her room, clad head to toe in giant, fluffy towels. She carried the staff with her on instinct – as well as checking the corner of her bedroom, the same one that the aforementioned troll had once been days prior. She eyed the area with newfound scrutiny, something she wouldn't have had if she wasn't so paranoid on keeping track of the hunter's habits, before deeming it private enough to dry and change into her pyjamas.

Sinking under her covers, she glared at the Shadowstaff that remained fully formed, even now. It usually acted with a mind of it's own, a sort of sentience even if she thought that to be impossible – but useful for when it reacted to her emotional state. But it was being wilfully stubborn, forcing her to grab it's hilt and shake it to no avail. Deciding that the staff's seeming lack of co-operation was the least of her worries, she tossed the cursed thing to the floor and slid further under her duvet.

Claire didn't expect to get any sleep, and her expectations were matched. She laid in bed for a grand total of ten minutes before she sat up and swiped her phone, opening the lock screen to gaze at the somewhat recent picture of Jim smiling off to the side. She'd taken it during their day out with Blinky when he was a human, a time she'd seen him lower his guard and relax. Her thumb hovered over where his cheek was. "Oh, Jim.."

The illusion of normalcy broke as the weight of all what had happened crashed down all around her.

The collected storm of her thoughts finally let loose it's rainfall and great, fat tears streamed down her face as she sobbed. A few drops of tears splattered onto the phone screen and she discarded it somewhere on her bed to draw her knees up and bury her face. She didn't try to stop it. All the stress, the worry, the irritation bled out into the salty, bitter tears that leaked out of her ducts, flowing seemingly endlessly. She cried and cried and even when she thought to stop for a shaky, heaving breath, more bitterness was spilt.

She couldn't do this. What was she thinking? Each harsh thought accumulated into a headache as she tried to muffle her convulsive gasps. She was in over her head. She was going to get them all killed – not just herself, but Jim, for making him feel obligated to rescue her brother. Toby, Blinky, Vendel –

Claire barely noticed that someone had slipped into her room, stony feet and claws alike pitter-pattering across the plush carpet until little paws were trying to tug her legs down to unfurl her. She refused to budge until she heard NotEnrique's soft voice. "C'mon now, sis, lemme in."

She said nothing, voice hiccuping as she tried to quieten her crying into something more manageable and more controlled, but she'd always been an ugly blubberer. Her face was red and stained, her eyes puffy and the largest frown the changeling ever saw. He was squinting his cat-like eyes, ears pinned back and even the coarse brown fur looked droopy and adhering to gravity.

He spread his arms wide. "Rein it in, sis', come on, no protesting. I don't give these out for free usually, so take it."

Claire sniffled, a half-second smile fighting off her frown before it gave up that battle. She appreciated the sentiment the half-breed offered in any case. She leaned a little bit forward as NotEnrique waddled up, wrapping his arms around her strongly and patting her back. He could feel her slump heavily into the embrace and even scratched at the bit of fur on his back. He muttered some nonsense words in Trollish just to fill the silence with anything other than her sniffles and wounded whimpers.

"Don't be getting snot in my fur now," he warned her benignly. "I just cleaned meself up. Even put the toys away so you didn't have to and didn't keep Momma too busy for you. So, whose the chump I gotta introduce to my fist for making my sis' cry? Cause I'll kill 'im, I swear I will."

"Me," she croaked and at least had the dignity to wince at how broken her own voice sounded, shattered with emotion. She hadn't really calmed, but she stopped wailing and was instead wallowing in spent upset. Exhaustion – coupled with a great sadness made for a bad combination. She tightened her hug on NotEnrique, whom, being made of stone, did not mind the squeeze.

The changeling pulled back, eyeing her critically before conceding to some silent point he'd made. "Alright, I get it. Youse a big girl who don't need her 'baby' brother kickin' the shit out of nobody. But you're coming with me, I'm not leaving you like this- " She sniffled " – And for Merlin's sake, blow your nose!"

He gave her a fake glare, which was enough to spot her lips twitch and fight the horrendous frown that marred her face. She reached for her box of tissues to do just that, discarding the used tissue into the bin before letting NotEnrique tug her out of bed with a little impatience. He even held her hand so she didn't get discouraged and return back into her pit of despair. Leading Claire downstairs, he instructed her to sit on the couch whilst he messed in the kitchen.

A few minutes pass and Claire was ready to investigate where her brother had gotten off to. She rose, but she needn't bother as NotEnrique came strolling in with a glass of milk clutched in between his paws. She blinked, and for one surreal moment she remembered heating up some milk and feeding the real Enrique once, and a fond, yet sombre smile cast away her frown. He waited until she settled back into the seat before offering it her. It was warm.

"NotEnrique.." she started, enclosing her hands around the beverage and letting the lukewarmth soothe her blistered palms, even through the bandages she put around them to avoid suspicion. "You didn't have to -"

"Ah, ah," he silenced her with a shush, crawling up to sit beside her, wiggle his claws and sink nicely into the cushioned couch, arms snugly behind his head as his yellowish eyes dimmed and closed. "Course I didn't have'ta. But I wanted to, youse – just drink it up, okay? It'll make you feel better. And I promise I aint babying you, it really does help. Weird, huh? Humans and their strange drinks. Should be labelled medicine."

Wiping at her face, Claire nodded and smiled weakly at her not-baby brother, taking a slow sip of the milk. She'd never been that much into milk outside of having it with cereal, but for once NotEnrique was right. It was like manna sent from heaven to cure all that ailed her. She followed his recline similarly, forcing herself to relax as she nursed the drink.

Letting the bottom rest on the flat of her stomach, she reached out with her free hand to smooth the fur on top of his head, followed by scratching the one place under his ear he liked. It was the closest thing to an affectionate, platonic gesture that transcended the two cultures. He melted under her touch and she was sure the vibrations she felt were a purr. It kinda made her grin, thinking that trolls were capable of such a thing. She was sure it was exclusive to the kind of small changeling NotEnrique was, unfortunately.

Claire knew he was expecting an answer, though. He just wasn't pressing her yet, letting her settle down with the warm milk.

For a moment, she let her worries go, let it wash away not by furious futile scrubbing but by the kind gesture of another. She drained the rest of the drink and placed the glass on the table, scooping NotEnrique up. He didn't protest as she held him much like she would Enrique, and it was a comfort he'll not complain about. He almost contemplated switching into his human guise had he not felt it might've been in bad taste and make things worse.

"Everything just.. crashed down at me at once." she explained loosely, chin resting on the top of his head. He was quite snug, so he remained still as he listened. Sometimes the cracked inflection of her voice made his ears flick, which she felt brush on the underside of her chin. "Jim's.. well, him feeling like he had an obligation to fill. My.. my own actions, throughout it all. Not being honest with anyone until they pretty much discovered it themselves.. and – and the future, is so uncertain now."

"Don't beat yourself up over it." the changeling helpfully offered, paws resting over her enveloped arms. "I think you already moped enough 'n you sounded pretty genuinely sorry. Maybe I wasn't the greatest support either, but, what's done is done. Crying aint going to magically yank the Trollhunter outta the Darklands. We gotta go pull him out by our own hands."

"You were a sorely needed slap in the face. I still can't believe I invited Strickler over with barely a plan," she grumbled, eyes cast to the ceiling, before back to NotEnrique. " – But what can we do? The portal's closed. Only Jim – or well, the Trollhunter, can open it."

He wiggled enough that her grip around him dropped and he sat facing her at her knees, legs crossed as he gaze imploringly upwards. Even after the milk and the comfort, she only looked marginally better. He squeezed her hand very gently. "Look, just forget about all this for one day. You've been through enough 'n you haven't even told me what happened in the day you were gone."

Claire was silent. Not telling her friends had been a source of stress for her she could've done without, so with a tired sigh she nodded heavily. "Tomorrow. I'll tell you tomorrow, for sure. I really could do with a rest that lasts an entire week at best."

"Young Artemis, resting from her hunt until the next quarry and bonding with her.. impure animal she considers family. How quaint."

Several things happened in barely a moment's passing. NotEnrique leapt off from Claire's lap long before she shot up in alarm. He deftly landed on all fours and in a rare moment of bravery she'd never seen in the self-serving changeling, stood between her and Angor Rot with hackles raised and multitude of tusks and fangs bared like an aggressive dog. Her hand reached for the Shadowstaff's hilt that she often clipped behind her, only to recall that she was in her purple pyjamas.

Angor Rot stared amusedly down at the small troll that thought he actually stood a chance, though even still he never underestimated an opponent, no matter how big or small. Claire found he looked no different from when they'd first met, or last parted in Bulgaria – tall, ashen grey stone for skin. Sharp horns and gold adornments she could only guess the significance of and patches of missing stone where he'd cut his own flesh to carve his dark totems, revealing the glint of blue living-stone within.

Her brows locked into a furious glare that would make Hell freeze over and it barely phased the ancient assassin. Her angry, irritated eyes made her gaze all the more cutting. "I am in no mood to play your games, Angor Rot. Leave."

"Have you forgotten your deal so soon?" he purred, knowing that she hadn't. He was supposed to be leaving her to rest for a few days – to recover from the shellshock, but whilst he had limitless patience on a hunt: out of it, was not so much. She must have great endurance if she was to learn le Fay's magics, let alone wield them for herself as he predicted she no doubt intended.

He knew her type: acolytes before had made the deal thinking similarly, how they would not be corrupted and stand pure. Do the right thing, help their misbegotten friends into whatever adventures they got caught in.

They were all dead, a faded cliff-note on History's books.

He stepped forward, intending to close the distance between them when he was halted by the irritating yapping of the small troll. "- Don't you dare step any closer to my sister or I'll rip out your bloody throat, you rotting, miserable pile of rocks!"

Angor Rot easily slipped into a crouch, regarding the changeling like one might a curious looking insect before the urge to squash them outgrew the brief fascination. "You taught it to speak," he mocked in fake surprise; orange, eyes widening before the light of which burned intensely at NotEnrique. " – And make it believe it actually has family. Perhaps I underestimated your cruelness, little huntress."

Claire hissed, but NotEnrique beat her to the punch. Quite literally, as he pounced with such feral speed, even the master of the hunt did not expect him to latch onto his horns so quickly and scratch at his face. Angor Rot stumbled back, claws furiously trying to pry the clinging changeling off from him, words spitting in their ancient language as gold light formed in his hand, intending to burn the creature off. The changeling snapped in turn, the pair trading colourful exchanges that, for once, Claire was thankful she did not know the translation of.

The scent of burning fur hung in the air like a foul stench when Angor pried NotEnrique off of his face, throwing him with abandon. He hit the wall, unperturbed. He looked quite ready to rustle up for round two, though he had something spherical in his mouth, clutched tightly in between fang and tusk alike.

Claire realized, along with the sight of the gaping hole in the troll's eye socket – he'd taken Angor's left eye.

They'd taken to keep their conversation in their language, leaving Claire in the dark. They both sounded alien when speaking their language; the low, gravel-like rumble of stone was intensified to the point it was hard to discern that Angor was actually speaking, and NotEnrique, even with his mouthful, was a lot less raspier than she expected. Not content to remain idle as the two looked ready to fight again, with every slow step Angor took matched by three or four of NotEnrique's bounds, the teen girl let her fury control her.

The assassin made a move to swipe at NotEnrique, whom scurried away to safety, only to see that Angor hadn't even came close, blocked by the outstretched Shadowstaff in Claire's hand. She looked just as surprised to see it in her injured palms as he did, though she brushed it aside for practicality, forcing the troll back by the prongs. He oddly complied with her herding, wrath melting into a fanged grin that was more sinister and promised worse than frenzy.

"I don't care what you do or say to me," she says, inwardly wondering why it was now the Shadowstaff complied with her, when she actively thought of it – actively wanted to use it, instead of letting it just react from her emotional state. "But if you EVER hurt NotEnrique, you better hope there is a spell that can resurrect trolls."

"You speak a lot of threat," he brushed it off easily. She was not the first person to have done so, nor would she be the last. "But, I wonder – have you ever truly ended someone's life? Have you watched the light in their eyes extinguish before you– by your very own hands? The ever-lasting thrill during a final kill when their body's vain struggles fades into limpness?"

Her staff remained unerring, but she did not answer.

"I thought not." he said smugly. His single eye drifted to NotEnrique, grin dropping to a snarl as the troll had not relinquished his grip on his glass, magical eye. "Order that thing to give me back my eye."

"Go an' boil yer ugly head!" the changeling in question stated. He spat the eye out into his paw, shouting something in their shared tongue which seemed to provoke Angor Rot to make another attempt at him. He was stopped once more by the Shadowstaff's prongs hooking into his neck and forcing him to stand down as NotEnrique scampered away with the eye. The assassin's singular burning gaze returned to match Claire's equally infuriated one.

"I am in no mood." she quietly repeated to him in a deathly calm that would've made even a Gumm-Gumm give pause, before drawing the staff back, twisting it around and creating him a portal to somewhere dark, shaded, and far, far away from her house. "I don't care if you're impatient. I know that we are going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on and trust me, I don't like that any more than you do."

She gritted her teeth. "But I am tired. I need to sleep. Eight hours of it. Maybe I'm just tired enough to follow through that threat and be damned with the consequences. I don't think you want to stay and find out."

"I did not intend to stay any longer than I already have." he seemed pleased, alarmingly, despite the fact he'd lost an eye and only succeeded in ruining her mood that had begun to lift just a little because of NotEnrique's efforts. "Our lesson is concluded for the day. You called for Skathe-Hrün and it answered without fail. The impure – Stricklander, always praised your intellect. Teaching you might prove.." he paused.

"Entertaining." he settled on, with a smirk to match. "When we next meet, little huntress, I expect my eye to be returned."

He didn't catch her splutter of a expletive as he left through the portal.