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[It's kind of funny. Two years ago she would have still been upset at him for using his dice- not entirely out of a concern for his well-being but because she would have felt like now she owed him some kind of massive debt for trying to help her, as deep as any Wonderland could magically conjure up. But debts are the farthest thing from her mind right now. She's a dead woman walking, at least for the time being, but Michael, this demon she's known for hundreds of years and who tortured her and who became someone she trusted, still has a chance.

Eleanor typically isn't one much for physical affection but still she leans in despite the pain that rips through her body and wraps her arms around Michael, pulling him into a hug with her head against his chest.]

I know you would. And I don't want you to have to.