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[transgressings]

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[transgressings]

[ Her hand is cool against his, that distinct temperature that would indicate her as being not quite human, no longer full of the life that the pulse of blood contains, but it doesn't mean she can't perceive the intricacies of a simple touch.

Grayson had given that gift back to her, endured the strange consequences that had befallen him on her behalf. Without that, she thinks, with a reflective, sad smile, she wouldn't necessarily know what Carver's hand feels like in her own, wouldn't be able to sense more than a muted pressure from him taking hold of her. ]

I would like that. [ It doesn't matter how long they sit; there's no risk at all of her becoming uncomfortable, of experiencing any stiffness from maintaining her seat here. She can remain as long as he needs her to, and perhaps as long as she needs. Having him close is a comfort now, one she isn't prepared to surrender yet. ]

[fortitudosalutis]

[ They hold like that, Carver breathing, Vanessa not. They sit there in the quiet, down there in the dark. And they hold hands.

It's a quiet, aching sort of grief. But it is not a lonely one, not this time. Not here.

Carver closes his eyes. For a while, he simply breathes. ]