The air still vibrated with Elizabeth's newly materialized presence when hurried footsteps echoed down the side corridor, stumbling among debris and pieces of broken marble. Lily emerged from the curve of the destroyed archway leading to the mansion's administrative wing. The dress she wore—once impeccable, simple, and elegant—was now stained with gray and dried blood. Her hair, always perfectly styled almost obsessively, hung disheveled around her pale face.
She stopped when she saw the main hall.
Her eyes scanned the broken columns, the cracked floor, the deep marks of blades embedded in the walls, and then found Damon kneeling before Aria, carefully adjusting the bandages on her shoulder.
Lily's face broke.
It wasn't immediate—it was like glass beginning to crack under pressure.
Her lips trembled first. Then her chin. Then her eyes filled, and tears began to fall uncontrollably.
