Her hair was so soft as he stroked it, incredibly soft—softer than it should be for all the horrors she was burdened to. The red strands slipped through his bejeweled fingers, like silk, like water and she murmured slightly in her sleep. As Emmrich let Rook sleep, curled in on herself, twined around his body, he continued to run his fingers through her hair. Once, this would have been too intimate, too personal for her—and for him, if he was honest, but the horrors of Tearstone Island, and having her ripped away from him had worn away all carefully constructed pretense.

“Lenora,” he whispered, as he continued to rub her scalp, like she might disappear, desolve under his very hands. “My darling, Lenora—I have often wished to tell you my thoughts on you, but…”

He swallowed. What could he say? The last two weeks had worn him through, haunted and gutted like a spectre. His regrets had chased him to the brink, to bring her back to him and still, the words were caught in his throat. He wanted her to know, yearned for her to know how his soul called for her in the darkness, in the darkest part of the night, but—what could he say?

She murmured in her sleep, and he stopped, just for a moment, grazing her cheek with his fingertips. After they had pulled her from the fade, after she had briefed the team, after she had showered…he had brought her food. Sat beside her, and she collapsed into him, and stilled. He would not move, even if the Lighthouse fell upon them, he would be her comforter, her pillow—anything she’d want him to be.

She stilled, curling her fingers around part of his shirt.

“I have lived long, far longer than I deserve,” he whispered. “I have traveled, not as far as you, of course, but I have seen the sun set on winters, where my heart, my very soul, was as frozen as the ice surrounding me. Alone—so alone,” he paused.

“I have been in a crowd of people, and laughed, smiled—hob knobbed with those who see only what they want to see, but I was always alone. I could be with a hundred, a thousand people, my love, and still be alone. Adrift in the ocean of grave misfortune and loneliness.” Emmrich’s hand shook, just slightly—still Lenora slept on. She had such deep bags under her eyes.

“That is nothing compared to these last two weeks of searching for you. I—” he faltered. He had to tell her. He must, even though his throat closed, his mouth was stuffed with the cottonness of emotion. “ I once told you, I feared death, that it was unreasonable, that it stalked me in the nights. To be so close to it every moment of my life, and to stare at it’s cold embered eyes as it stalked me relentlessly—

“Emmrich?” she mumbled, barely raising her head from his lap.

“Nothing, Lenora, nothing, has terrified me more than when I lost you at Tearstone. Nothing. I was a fool to not tell you how I felt, and I have regretted it with every breath and heartbeat of my heart, neigh—my soul, Lenora. I—there are so many things I regret in my life, but please know you are my apricity, my love. A flicker in the darkness of my own mortality, the warmth from the sun in the coldest of winters—”

“My dear, I am so sorry to disturb, I was—”

“Can you just—” Rook rolled over, and placed a finger on his lips, her eyes half closed. “Shh… please. Poems later, sleep now,”

He nodded. “Of course, I…of course, yes,” He murmured, settling even further into her couch. Her head on his chest, his fingers laced into her hair.

“You gotta see Rivain in the winter, no snow—” she whispered, voice soft with drowsiness. “All sun, all time,”