When Lydia had been little, her maternal grandmother died in Eichen House. They'd been really close, but Lydia was so young that she doesn't really remember it.

Jackson died, once, but he'd come back. It hadn't stuck.

It isn't like Lydia didn't know loss, but losing Allison had been different. She'd felt Allison's lifeline being severed. She'd felt that sword in her gut and she'd known. She'd just known.

Beyond the loss of her best friend, which Lydia wouldn't ever wish on anyone, having to feel something she didn't understand, something on a higher plane that connected her to it and made no sense to her, all the same, that felt worse, she thought. It felt worse because she still didn't understand it and one couldn't ever move on from something if they couldn't accept it...but how could she accept it if she didn't understand it?

Lydia's hand found Ray's and she gave it a little squeeze. Heroes do that, Ray. She sucked in a sharp breath and pressed her lips together. She didn't understand that vision, either, and she didn't want to. It wasn't hers to understand; she knew that much. "I'm sorry."