And him, the whole time, able to feel that something was going terribly, horribly wrong, but unable to do anything to actually help. In fact, having made it worse in his desperate attempts to find any help at all.

Ignis didn't say anything, at first. What could he say, besides an endless litany of apologies that wouldn't do anything to go back in time to change anything? An endless march of apologies for which he could only even half-heartedly feel because, even if he didn't understand how, it had lead to her here, now, better...far from good, but at least not nearly lifeless and helpless on his living room floor.

He didn't say anything still, not knowing what to say, but he did lift one of her hands in his, and, feeling the slight echo of something she's said not too long ago that felt like it had been ages when their fingers had been similarly laced--Happy. Perfect day.--to kiss her fingertips in lieu of the words currently failing him.

He couldn't even reassure her that it was over now, at least. Not when she'd still had three more to look forward to.