@thatonepossessedguy
LEWIS WATCHED HIS former friend fall down the cliff, his heart going cold with the growing realisation of what he'd just done. Could he stop it? Why did his chest hurt, if the other deserved just what he'd got in the end? Oh, damn it all, he had to do something. Dematerialising in a puff of smoke, he did his best to reach the bottom of the cave before Arthur did -- only to ultimately be too late, in the end. If he had a lower jaw, it would've been shut tight with anxiety, waiting for a sigh, anything that might give away that the other was somehow still alive, in spite of avoiding any and all sharp stalagmites. He stood quietly nearby, metaphorically holding his own breath, and thanking the heavens when he finally saw the other move on its own. “Arthur,” he spoke gently but decisively, making his way towards the living being, hovering just a few inches above the floor; though a frown still couldn't manage to get wiped away from his very features, at that. Was he relieved? Certainly. But was he still angry at him? Yes, without a doubt. He'd killed him, after all -- it had been all his fault from the start, and though the spirit didn't intend to be a murderer anymore, it definitely didn't mean things were at peace just yet. “Are you hurt?”










