Even time will never tell / she teetered, she tripped, and then she fell

the sorrows

Whatever it was that was going outside was simply none of her business. High above it all, Marcille sat like a princess from a half-remembered fairytale that she must have read once as a child, but the stories seemed to have conveniently chosen to neglect to mention the uncomfortable weight of loneliness crushing her heart as she briefly allowed herself to wonder where it was her friends could possibly be. 
Really, what was the point in it all if they weren't there by her side?

With lips heavy with sighs, she settled her arms down onto the windowsill, her chin coming to rest upon them, the fur of her sleeves brushing against her cheek as she did so. It was strange to think that the world that lay before her looked as it had because of her. An even footing that should have brought everything from the Dungeon that she wanted to her, and yet it did. The bird that passed by the window, feathers twinkling as the light danced across the silver and bronze feathers of the monster (she had recalled vaguely from something Laios had once said that Stymphalian birds at once stage in its life had feathers of silver and feathers of bronze, but she did not recall which came first so the monster had a mixture of both. Laios would have had several things to say about the incorrect portrayal, as they only had a mixture like that when they were juvenile, the chicks being silver and in adulthood they were largely bronze, and the size of the one that circled the skies was far too large to still have any baby-feathers) did very little to chase away the annoying ache of loneliness that she was quite sure she should not have to deal with anymore, especially not so all-encompassing. 

"Did I do the wrong thing?" the new Dungeon Lord, Marcille, mused aloud, letting her words carry out some of the sighs that were plaguing her.

"Of course not," came the voice from behind her, "A change of this magnitude can feel strange, but that does not mean it was a mistake. Quite the opposite, for it proves you've put your heart into this, that you wish for it to go well."

Perhaps she ought to have jumped at the voice behind her, having gotten so lost in her thoughts that she had quite forgotten the Winged Lion as it lurked about. Yet she didn't. She could not quite find it in her to jump, which definitely didn't have absolutely everything to do with the demon lingering about behind her. 

"But they all look so angry down there," she returned, "I don't want them to be angry at me, I wanted to help them all."

"Not angry, no," the Lion mused, "Perhaps they are just afraid."

"I don't want them to be afraid of me either!"

With her declaration declared, she dragged herself away from the window, whipping around so that she could face the winged demon directly. There was some part of her, an instinct one could only suppose, that was screaming at her to not let the thing out of her sight, to not trust it. Unfortunately this little voice was muffled as if it were screaming at her through a brick wall.

"I did not say they were afraid of you," assured the Lion, "No, they were afraid of Thistle, certainly, of what he had become-"

"What you made him into?" corrected she.

"I did not make him into anything that he was not, I cannot do anything more than grant whatsoever someone desires. He had forgotten what it was that he wanted and grew stagnant, that is not my doing," came the reply, a flash of sharp teeth punctuating this, "But I digress- you are not he, and when they understand this they shall not fear you, they will not be mad. They will understand what you are doing, how it is that you wish to help them. They are blind to it now, but hearts do change, and you are more than capable of rectifying them of their present ignorance."

There was something in the absolute and total conviction in the Lion's voice that made it all too easy to believe the demon's words, which was something that demons as a rule were alarmingly good at, the whole 'making the impossible seem possible and dreams turn to reality' business and all that. It did help, of course, that Marcille was not exactly in her right mind and the idea that things weren't really as awful as they seem was very appealing. How very convenient and suitable for a demon to draw upon if it so chose.