[ It is hard, to see his sweetness and softness and not wish to fall into it, not wish to curl herself into familiar arms and mould her skin against his. Matthew had told her that he did not think her nor Astarion monsters, not in the way that they might frame themselves, but she doubts him now - only for herself. When she looks upon Astarion now, so dear to her, pale skin mirroring her own and soft white hair opposing, all she can think is dearest, friend, pack; protect cherish save aid-

Instinct burns her more than anything else.

It is hard, to spent night after night burrowed with someone and not feel the burn of tenderness and affection curl inside her in earnest, a sweetness that entices her as much as it frightened her. ]

It is a kinder prison than may be deserved. It is treated as a - relief. What punishment is here, for blood spilled?

[ The blood on her hands, her teeth, behind her wild eyes?

Gazing at her friend, she presses her forehead against the cool metal of the bar, sighing softly. ]

My fingers hurt. Whenever I touch another, it is a knife in my mind, twisting, as if to draw the memories from me with the agony. I am used to the pain, it is why I lived alone so long, I didn’t not wish to feel it.

[ Her eyes fill with tears, and she gazes at her friend, black hands curled in the fabric of her dress. ]

I would like my gloves. I would like… [ Her head bows. ] I would like to touch you, without harming you with my being.