[ He continues to breath. Breathing is all he can and needs to do, for she is here. The fog in his mind has begun to clear, sluggish though it is from overall exhaustion. She won't release him until the fever has broken; perhaps, if she so happens to be sick as well, they'll experience recovery together.
Another shiver accompanies the thought. His head throbs, but the intensity of the pounding lessens the more she draws soothing circles on the back of his head and strokes his hair. Like a mother comforting her ailing child, she holds him ever so tenderly. She is warm, and she gives him warmth; upon realizing this, his body relaxes enough for the next wave of small tremors to rock all of him.
Slowly but surely, he's improving. So long as he is, he won't move.
She's still here. Her hands are still caressing him, and their bodies are still pressed together. This is necessary. She's doing what must be done. Once he recovers, she will leave. ]
[ With her own body warmed against him, she’s faring far better than when she first returned to the townhouse. No longer does the chill feel so gripping or the aches so consuming. She lets out a slow, steady breath along with him, relaxing further only because he feels warmer than he had been before, too.
It’s difficult not to give into that warmth, finding it comforting, nice. This marks the first time she's held someone like this.
The hand upon his back lowers between his shoulder-blades, comes around to his front, then swifts up to his forehead. Her palm brushes back his bangs, matted coolly from a stressful night, to press upon his skin for a moment. Then she runs those same fingers though his hair yet again. Whatever she has assessed, she finds it passing.
Pyra adjusts just enough that they may face each other once again, and she slowly brings her own forehead to his. Quietly, but not so quiet that he might not hear the relief and smile in her voice, ]
[ As expected, the fever has yet to break. It is always the last sign to fade, but that he’s warmed up to this extent means it will break before long. Even his reflexive shivering has reached its peak and begun to fall to the occasional chill down his spine. (And those rushes never coincide with the moments where she holds him.)
Better, he thinks while their foreheads meet. He opens his eyes to look upon her face. Obvious answer aside, she would still ask him to voice how he feels about something. He casts his gaze down to her collar.
Somnus swallows. His voice is a touch thick as he answers lowly: ]
[ ...Still so stubborn on admitting to what he feels, how he feels in this case. He must have been struggling, for the signs of his labored breathing, his shudders, the way in which his body remained rigid had been obvious to his pain.
She keeps his forehead against his, her eyes closed. ] Then, it's not over yet.
[ She knows it isn't, because his shivers still linger. Her hand rounds from his back to his arm, lowering to take his hand, and.... guiding it over to her. She sets his palm upon her waist. ] You can touch me, too, you know. You shouldn't need to suffer.
[ For touch is the solution, and he needn't feel more pain than what he already has; he can take what he needs, to feel better for himself. Even with this, she guides him in initiation. She wonders if he denies himself, that he believes his suffering is warranted, and if that is why he refuses to acknowledge his own feelings. ]
[ It isn't about suffering, but about unnecessary motions. By embracing him, she's made him a second participant in the contact. His hand, now that he has the strength for proper fine motor control, doesn't have to be on her. Nevertheless, he keeps his palm where she's laid it on her waist.
The worst of the sickness has passed. Now his eyes remain open, lit up against the passive glow of her crystal in the dim room. ]
You have alleviated the signs. I require naught more than this.
[ Her eyes open to meet his eyes, too close to be in focus. She pulls away just enough so that his expression comes into view, noting how he only keeps his gaze cast down, and...
She sees someone who has been dead for thousands of years, someone who has not been granted the ability to truly rest in all of that time. And then this, now, this world, this body of his, warm enough that it feels alive beneath her touch, had fallen ill. He does not get any rest here, either.
Now she wonders. She wonders, and asks: ]
...I worried for you. [ She admits this as she looks at him. Although her words contain a hint of sorrow, her gaze is peaceful. The worst is over, there is no need to chide him. ] Will you say that that is unnecessary, too?
[ His eyes flit up, only to stop at the level of her chin. To that, he can say nothing. Pyra loves and thus worries after all. In response, Somnus maneuvers his other hand through the small space between them and finds her opposite hip to slide under, that he might rest his hands against both.
He's received what he's needed. Now she'll receive his tribute for her continued blessing. ]
[ His touch is welcome, warm, and surprising that he would extend an offer of his own touch to her. Just in time, too, for a shiver passes down her back, admitting to the illness she had been feeling despite her attempt to conceal. She does not shift away, but only keeps her eyes on him.
He does not meet her gaze, but from this angle... She lifts a hand to his cheek, to guide the last few angles of his gaze upwards to meet hers.
Golden eyes gain her attention easily, but his, now, alight with the soft glow of her crystal-- even though not meeting hers-- remind her of the distant, dim stars just beyond the curve of the moon; outshined only by the reflection of the sun, they are not forgotten. The blue within them, the light of hers that is reflected within them as well, is of a deeper hue than platinum sunken in the ocean. ]
...Someone told me here, that eyes are the windows to the soul. [ Metaphorically speaking. Her lips curl to a smile. ] If that's how it is in other worlds... yours must be truly beautiful.
[ She breathes, and with it is a sigh of relief. The worst has passed for him, but still she holds him, smiling at him graciously. No admiration is spared for his existence, his presence that he is here. Her eyes shine as she gazes at him. She leans in, once more bringing to rest her forehead against his. ] I am grateful that you are here...
[ She will thank the gods, too, for him existing at all. The gods here, and those of his own world. ]
[ With both hands to receive the faint tremor in her body, he confirms that she is indeed sick. She, of course, speaks no word of it. She has eyes only for him right now as she guides his face to meet hers.
Eyes and hair of crimson shine from the light of the crystal, amplifying her ethereal visage. In those eyes, Somnus sees warmth and appreciation for the life within him. But his soul, though molded by the gods after his death, is tainted with envy and far from beautiful.
Her forehead comes down to rest on his, and he reciprocates with a slight forward pressure from his end. So long as he's here, her thoughts won't wander. ]
[ The press back with his forehead, the softly spoken then I will be here... Before, she had embraced him out of worry. Now, she returns an embrace out of gratitude for him. Who has ever said they would be there for her?
She hopes he realizes this: that among the necessary and unnecessary things in the world, feelings are the former for humanity. For without care and concern, him and others would still be suffering this wall-sickness alone. ]
Be... wherever you wish to be. [ Closing her eyes, still she remains smiling as she eases with the embrace. How could someone deceased for so long feel so warm again? She curls into him further, seeking the warmth taken from her by the sickness. ] And if you wish to be here [ Here! With her of all people. ], or rest here...
[ True rest will come in time. While that time isn’t now, their bodies require temporary rest to recover. Regardless of her origin, she needs contact to recover, too. His hand on her outer waist slides up to wrap an arm around her upper back, securing her against him.
If he were to wish for his leave, would she accept that as well? With her curled into him, he’s able to look past the crown of her head and at the wall on the opposite side of the room. A fleeting, foolish thought.
Leaving will accomplish nothing. He will stay, and his action of keeping her close will speak for him. ]
[ Him pulling her to himself further, she exhales softly with the press. She had expected him to take her subtle offer to leave; instead, he surprises once again. Perhaps he's only noticed how the illness has ailed her, just as it had with him. Perhaps he's doing simply what is necessary. But it... also feels nice, nice enough to that her shoulders relax as his hand finds its way from her skin to to her upper back.
Adjusting further into him, she lowers her head, resting it in a tuck just beneath his chin. Her own breaths come steady now against the crook of his neck.
A few more moments pass- and a few moments more. For her, they are in a comfortable silence, both holding each other to ensure a steady path to full recovery. As if her touch could thank him in turn, her hand strokes warmly, lazily across his back. ] I... saw you working on the wall.
You were doing so much to help.
[ This, too, is said with praise, admiration for his efforts and strength. It's been-- not even a month since they have both arrived, and already he has given most of what he can to this world. ]
I am only sorry that I didn't notice sooner, that you were ill. [ There it is, a hint of guilt in her tone, but it passes like fog banished by sunlight. ]
[ He still feels a faint chill within him, as well as a mild headache and a slight congestion. The shivering, however, has all but gone, and he continues to hold her close to him. His hand may not stroke her back in return, but his is a sustained touch with no hint of withdrawing anytime soon.
He did no more than she did. Just as she saw him, he caught glimpses of her with the cart. And if he did nearly as much as she claims he did, he should’ve checked for signs and symptoms before retiring for the night. ]
I was the one who neglected to treat the sickness. You have nothing for which to apologize.
[ Regarding this, at least. Neither of them has a clean history. ]
[ She closes her eyes, and her smile carries in her voice. Pyra has the excuse of this week being the first time she's ever been ill, and she had been careful to seek help in the medical tents. She is certain he had been responsible to do the same. Yet-- ] Then it seems we both underestimated this.
[ It's an oddly comforting thought. Here in this world, she is no more or less susceptible to the strange ailments and healing properties of touch than anyone else. They are all effected regardless of being human, dead, alive, or otherwise. They are equal. She wonders if this is how a human would feel, to be comforted when feeling so cold and unwell.
His touch remains a steady balm upon her back, while hers moves as if it could press the energy into him. ] ...Isn't it... wonderful, that sickness can be alleviated in this way?
[ That the sickness, in spite of its mysterious origin, can be alleviated at all is a blessing. To this day, the Scourge remains incurable. For something as simple as touch to be the cure here, they're truly fortunate.
But he wonders, and as a result he neglects to answer her question (for now). Perhaps she can answer this first. ]
[ That is a far more difficult question than hers... ]
I... would think that it comes from beyond the barrier, [ He will feel her shift slightly, titling her head against his chest. ] And I'm more inclined to believe it's due to some sort of, ah, toxin rather than a pathogen.
[ Perhaps it's the same toxin as that to which the people who'd traversed outside had been exposed—in which case, rather than a bribe, the gods have given them a means to combat the sickness. Absorbed in his thoughts, he almost doesn't notice her shift under his chin. ]
A wall is a temporary solution. One day, we must venture beyond the enclosure and learn more about this toxin.
Her shoulders jerk as if in surprise, and she lifts her head apart from him, just enough to pull away and a bit up to look to him. ]
Somnus... [ She says, voice starting out hushed but eyes giving way to a sparkle excitement— for whatever theory she has in her head, as well as sharing it with him. In the course of their embrace, her hair had tussled upon her cheek. She lifts a hand to quickly correct the tangled strands behind her ear, clinking a finger against her earring. ] Do you know what this means?
[ After the slow motions of easing each other back to health, the sudden jerkiness of her movement causes a shift in the air. Somnus subconsciously leans his head back, widening the small gap between their faces but not following the sparkle in her eyes.
He doesn't know, so he waits for her to go on and say. ]
[ She waits for him to speak, but seeing as that he won't even guess-- she answers. Brightly, at that. ]
It means that contact... will be better use to us than any armor, or antitoxin, too!
[ Meaning that if a pair were to venture outside, it would involve a lot of hand-holding. Not that that means abandoning protective gear completely, but maybe holding hands while walking outside would mean longer scouting trips!
She laughs delightedly, airily, shaking her head. ] Ah, I feel so silly... [ The barrier is divine. The divinity here is supplied with their power through touch. It is them, the otherworlders, who provide that energy. Can they not take it with them, as they explore? ]
Certainly, the restorative nature of contact is better than anything man-made so long as they stay in the city. He has seen what the so-called healer’s touch has done to his brother, though, and is reluctant to rely overmuch on this in untested waters. Whereas she lightens the mood with laughter, he brings it back down with a pensive mien. ]
If the gods heal us for offering contact, there is no guarantee that their blessing will bear the same potency beyond the city’s borders.
[ He thinks touch is like a prayer, it delivers the energy and they receive a blessing in return automatically... Admittedly, she hadn't thought of it that way, instead only musing if the mysterious energy generated from touch itself had been a way to stave off the illness. He does have a point, though, that it won't be effective outside. ]
The gods are not holding our hands. We are holding each other's. [ Technically, they're doing a lot more than just holding hands, but she hopes her point still stands. ] It is that energy that we give to the gods, and from there they make the barrier.
I hope that... [ Settling back to the crevice that is his body, she scoots to align herself with him. A lingering shiver passes through her, her fingers briefly bunching up the fabric of his tunic on his back. ] we will be able to bring this power unique to us to create havens outside of the city, the further we explore.
[ When he feels her hand tense behind him, he responds with the brief stroke of his own on her back. All the divine strength in her palms had done nothing to stop the sickness from claiming her. The state of the world is dire, truly.
But how curious, that she would use the word haven. While the city is named after one, he's also reminded of the havens that were once strewn across Eos. ]
We will need to petition the council for an expedition, if such a thing is feasible.
[ The stroke upon her back seems to pull a bit more of the cold out of her. Where he touches her skin, she can feel the calloused texture of his fingers, rough but warm over her. Healing properties aside, she hadn’t known how... touch could feel so comforting. This, too, he’s giving her— and so, she seeks to reciprocate.
In turn Pyra’s hand relaxes upon his back, fingers spreading out to rest her palm, lightly pressing his tunic against his back. He’s quite muscular, she finds, undoubtedly from years of training, and the tips of her fingers slowly follow along the oblique ridge of his shoulder blade to just below the nape of his neck.
She wonders if this helps him, if someone who has been dead for so long can find comfort in touch. Hopefully, it is so. ]
The outside world is harsh. But you are strong, [ She can feel it beneath her fingertips, physically strong, but also a magnificent light. She speaks quietly but no less hopefully. ] and your hands... They already have experience with helping to heal your own world.
If they are to select anyone to explore outside, there would be few more capable than you.
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Another shiver accompanies the thought. His head throbs, but the intensity of the pounding lessens the more she draws soothing circles on the back of his head and strokes his hair. Like a mother comforting her ailing child, she holds him ever so tenderly. She is warm, and she gives him warmth; upon realizing this, his body relaxes enough for the next wave of small tremors to rock all of him.
Slowly but surely, he's improving. So long as he is, he won't move.
She's still here. Her hands are still caressing him, and their bodies are still pressed together. This is necessary. She's doing what must be done. Once he recovers, she will leave. ]
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It’s difficult not to give into that warmth, finding it comforting, nice. This marks the first time she's held someone like this.
The hand upon his back lowers between his shoulder-blades, comes around to his front, then swifts up to his forehead. Her palm brushes back his bangs, matted coolly from a stressful night, to press upon his skin for a moment. Then she runs those same fingers though his hair yet again. Whatever she has assessed, she finds it passing.
Pyra adjusts just enough that they may face each other once again, and she slowly brings her own forehead to his. Quietly, but not so quiet that he might not hear the relief and smile in her voice, ]
How are you feeling?
[ Better, she hopes. ]
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Better, he thinks while their foreheads meet. He opens his eyes to look upon her face. Obvious answer aside, she would still ask him to voice how he feels about something. He casts his gaze down to her collar.
Somnus swallows. His voice is a touch thick as he answers lowly: ]
The fever will break soon.
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She keeps his forehead against his, her eyes closed. ] Then, it's not over yet.
[ She knows it isn't, because his shivers still linger. Her hand rounds from his back to his arm, lowering to take his hand, and.... guiding it over to her. She sets his palm upon her waist. ] You can touch me, too, you know. You shouldn't need to suffer.
[ For touch is the solution, and he needn't feel more pain than what he already has; he can take what he needs, to feel better for himself. Even with this, she guides him in initiation. She wonders if he denies himself, that he believes his suffering is warranted, and if that is why he refuses to acknowledge his own feelings. ]
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The worst of the sickness has passed. Now his eyes remain open, lit up against the passive glow of her crystal in the dim room. ]
You have alleviated the signs. I require naught more than this.
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She sees someone who has been dead for thousands of years, someone who has not been granted the ability to truly rest in all of that time. And then this, now, this world, this body of his, warm enough that it feels alive beneath her touch, had fallen ill. He does not get any rest here, either.
Now she wonders. She wonders, and asks: ]
...I worried for you. [ She admits this as she looks at him. Although her words contain a hint of sorrow, her gaze is peaceful. The worst is over, there is no need to chide him. ] Will you say that that is unnecessary, too?
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He's received what he's needed. Now she'll receive his tribute for her continued blessing. ]
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He does not meet her gaze, but from this angle... She lifts a hand to his cheek, to guide the last few angles of his gaze upwards to meet hers.
Golden eyes gain her attention easily, but his, now, alight with the soft glow of her crystal-- even though not meeting hers-- remind her of the distant, dim stars just beyond the curve of the moon; outshined only by the reflection of the sun, they are not forgotten. The blue within them, the light of hers that is reflected within them as well, is of a deeper hue than platinum sunken in the ocean. ]
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[ She breathes, and with it is a sigh of relief. The worst has passed for him, but still she holds him, smiling at him graciously. No admiration is spared for his existence, his presence that he is here. Her eyes shine as she gazes at him. She leans in, once more bringing to rest her forehead against his. ] I am grateful that you are here...
[ She will thank the gods, too, for him existing at all. The gods here, and those of his own world. ]
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Eyes and hair of crimson shine from the light of the crystal, amplifying her ethereal visage. In those eyes, Somnus sees warmth and appreciation for the life within him. But his soul, though molded by the gods after his death, is tainted with envy and far from beautiful.
Her forehead comes down to rest on his, and he reciprocates with a slight forward pressure from his end. So long as he's here, her thoughts won't wander. ]
Then I will be here.
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She hopes he realizes this: that among the necessary and unnecessary things in the world, feelings are the former for humanity. For without care and concern, him and others would still be suffering this wall-sickness alone. ]
Be... wherever you wish to be. [ Closing her eyes, still she remains smiling as she eases with the embrace. How could someone deceased for so long feel so warm again? She curls into him further, seeking the warmth taken from her by the sickness. ] And if you wish to be here [ Here! With her of all people. ], or rest here...
Please know that I will always accept.
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If he were to wish for his leave, would she accept that as well? With her curled into him, he’s able to look past the crown of her head and at the wall on the opposite side of the room. A fleeting, foolish thought.
Leaving will accomplish nothing. He will stay, and his action of keeping her close will speak for him. ]
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Adjusting further into him, she lowers her head, resting it in a tuck just beneath his chin. Her own breaths come steady now against the crook of his neck.
A few more moments pass- and a few moments more. For her, they are in a comfortable silence, both holding each other to ensure a steady path to full recovery. As if her touch could thank him in turn, her hand strokes warmly, lazily across his back. ] I... saw you working on the wall.
You were doing so much to help.
[ This, too, is said with praise, admiration for his efforts and strength. It's been-- not even a month since they have both arrived, and already he has given most of what he can to this world. ]
I am only sorry that I didn't notice sooner, that you were ill. [ There it is, a hint of guilt in her tone, but it passes like fog banished by sunlight. ]
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He did no more than she did. Just as she saw him, he caught glimpses of her with the cart. And if he did nearly as much as she claims he did, he should’ve checked for signs and symptoms before retiring for the night. ]
I was the one who neglected to treat the sickness. You have nothing for which to apologize.
[ Regarding this, at least. Neither of them has a clean history. ]
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[ It's an oddly comforting thought. Here in this world, she is no more or less susceptible to the strange ailments and healing properties of touch than anyone else. They are all effected regardless of being human, dead, alive, or otherwise. They are equal. She wonders if this is how a human would feel, to be comforted when feeling so cold and unwell.
His touch remains a steady balm upon her back, while hers moves as if it could press the energy into him. ] ...Isn't it... wonderful, that sickness can be alleviated in this way?
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But he wonders, and as a result he neglects to answer her question (for now). Perhaps she can answer this first. ]
Whence does this sickness come?
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I... would think that it comes from beyond the barrier, [ He will feel her shift slightly, titling her head against his chest. ] And I'm more inclined to believe it's due to some sort of, ah, toxin rather than a pathogen.
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A wall is a temporary solution. One day, we must venture beyond the enclosure and learn more about this toxin.
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Her shoulders jerk as if in surprise, and she lifts her head apart from him, just enough to pull away and a bit up to look to him. ]
Somnus... [ She says, voice starting out hushed but eyes giving way to a sparkle excitement— for whatever theory she has in her head, as well as sharing it with him. In the course of their embrace, her hair had tussled upon her cheek. She lifts a hand to quickly correct the tangled strands behind her ear, clinking a finger against her earring. ] Do you know what this means?
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He doesn't know, so he waits for her to go on and say. ]
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It means that contact... will be better use to us than any armor, or antitoxin, too!
[ Meaning that if a pair were to venture outside, it would involve a lot of hand-holding. Not that that means abandoning protective gear completely, but maybe holding hands while walking outside would mean longer scouting trips!
She laughs delightedly, airily, shaking her head. ] Ah, I feel so silly... [ The barrier is divine. The divinity here is supplied with their power through touch. It is them, the otherworlders, who provide that energy. Can they not take it with them, as they explore? ]
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Certainly, the restorative nature of contact is better than anything man-made so long as they stay in the city. He has seen what the so-called healer’s touch has done to his brother, though, and is reluctant to rely overmuch on this in untested waters. Whereas she lightens the mood with laughter, he brings it back down with a pensive mien. ]
If the gods heal us for offering contact, there is no guarantee that their blessing will bear the same potency beyond the city’s borders.
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The gods are not holding our hands. We are holding each other's. [ Technically, they're doing a lot more than just holding hands, but she hopes her point still stands. ] It is that energy that we give to the gods, and from there they make the barrier.
I hope that... [ Settling back to the crevice that is his body, she scoots to align herself with him. A lingering shiver passes through her, her fingers briefly bunching up the fabric of his tunic on his back. ] we will be able to bring this power unique to us to create havens outside of the city, the further we explore.
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But how curious, that she would use the word haven. While the city is named after one, he's also reminded of the havens that were once strewn across Eos. ]
We will need to petition the council for an expedition, if such a thing is feasible.
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In turn Pyra’s hand relaxes upon his back, fingers spreading out to rest her palm, lightly pressing his tunic against his back. He’s quite muscular, she finds, undoubtedly from years of training, and the tips of her fingers slowly follow along the oblique ridge of his shoulder blade to just below the nape of his neck.
She wonders if this helps him, if someone who has been dead for so long can find comfort in touch. Hopefully, it is so. ]
The outside world is harsh. But you are strong, [ She can feel it beneath her fingertips, physically strong, but also a magnificent light. She speaks quietly but no less hopefully. ] and your hands... They already have experience with helping to heal your own world.
If they are to select anyone to explore outside, there would be few more capable than you.
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