Much like the first time, once Otoya realized just what was going on, he'd tried to rush forward, to get between the beaten girl and this psychotic person hurting her - to no avail. It was as if he, himself, lacked solidity. He wasn't corporal - he was little more than a ghost.

Which meant, despite his attempt to block this person from getting to her, the arm with the whip simply reached right through him to continue its abuse. Half turning, he watched one blow land and then another, flinching with each sound of leather meeting flesh, before he sank to his knees before her.

It was a harsh touch of reality, the way he could not step in or interfere with this nightmare because no matter how much he willed it otherwise... this was her past, the echo of memory, and so he did the only thing he could do: He sank to his knees before her, still openly crying, and listened to those soft words of a wounded child.

And then he began to sing.

Barely above a whisper as well, it was a song of warmth and hope, of friendship and love, of hurt and healing and of never being left alone again. He wasn't even sure of the words, exactly, but it was all that he had.

It was all that he could give her. Just a soothing voice that probably couldn't reach her any more than his hands had.