So both had witnessed something disturbing, utterly harrowing. Should the pattern continue, it would be Ashe's turn next. Trying not to follow that thought she stood, looking to Beatrix for aid in helping Tifa to her feet. But... she was gone, replaced by a vaguely familiar man dressed in the formal attire of the Dalmascan council, a solemn expression on his face - of waiting, of worry.

Surely enough, Ashe found herself barefoot, nightclothed, hurrying through the palace corridor and bursting into her father's great hall. Beyond the chamber's heavy, ornate door opposite, heavy, almost sorrowful footsteps echoed slowly, as if laden with a burden. Wide-eyed, Ashe watched as the door swung open to reveal the most heartbreaking sight she had ever witnessed.

He was dead.

"No..."

Protective hands grasped at her shoulders, determined to hold their princess back and spare her from the sight - but it was too late. Ashe, screaming mercy and despair, fought off her restrainers in pure, agonized desperation. Across the marble floor she sprinted, blinded by tears until finally she reached her fallen husband, her beloved prince, laying lifeless in Basch's arms.

"Gods, no - Rasler!"

Trembling knees gave way and she fell to the floor like glass, shattered and broken, clasping the prince's limp hand to her lips and almost choking on his name. The widowed bride sobbed, wailed pitifully, the onlooking nobles moved to tears of their own at the sight of their devastated princess.

Ashe only realised the true nature of her experience when suddenly she held thin air, though she hadn't opened her eyes, the image still fresh, still raw.