Despite all the talk of being unable to keep their hands to themselves, they'd proven tonight that they very much were. Admittedly it wasn't a planned sleepover; they'd put together a schedule once the fog lifted as to avoid awkward intrusions during the evening hours, but it seemed February had managed to find her way in anyways - and without making a scene, much to his relief. He'd did little more than raise his brows in question, and when she had none to offer him, he merely held open his arms, a welcome for her to crawl into bed beside him.

And she had. They'd fallen asleep shortly after, hours of paperwork having worn him so much that he was nearly incapable of getting his words out in coherent phrases. The hours had passed, and Febby had somehow managed to escape his grasp and find herself on the side of the bed opposite by the time she startled him from his sleep.

"What - What is it?" he gasped, his body instinctively jerking into an upright position. He peered around, looking for anything - or anyone - that was glaringly out of place.

And then his eyes landed on her. Propped up in bed and wearing her seemingly bloodstained nightgown, February Lynch sat there, mouth hanging open in the what could only be described as an unsettling, maniacal laughter. Maybe it was the setting - his own bedroom in the midnight hour - or maybe it was because he knew her, but the image before him was one of a mad woman. His mad woman. Unsure of whether to be concerned for her life or frightened for his own, Edric merely sat there, mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

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