Closed The Reflective White.

[Johanne]

3rd Winter, 512AV

Johanne had awoken from the Dawn Rest to a field of white covering the world. Her bones aching from the chill, she padded from her bed with her blanket wrapped around her, and looked into the cold of the outside world. Soft snow covered the streets of Lhavit, and she could feel inevitability set in. Today was the day she would have to find Dariel once more.

"When the first snow falls," he had said, as she hurried from the Good Book, just barely holding her soul together. She had come back to her apartment that night, as Lhavit awoke from their Midnight Rest, only to take her stiletto in hand and hold it against her flesh. Just below her elbow, she had carved a deep wound, in the shape of spindly fleeting hands, their fingers long and limber. Dariel's touch had so shaken her that she had needed to make the moment a part of her flesh for her to truly understand it. She looked down from the window, from the glaring white spectacle outside, and to her elbow. The wound had scabbed over, an angry red, stinging to touch. The barest knock would break the scab and set the blood flowing again. Gritting her teeth, Johanne brought her fingers to the wound and picked the scab from her flesh. The blood flowed anew, running down her arm. She smiled. If she kept interfering with the wound's healing process, she would be left with a deep and long lasting scar, a scar of artworks.

With her arm stinging in pain, Johanne turned from the window and began to get dressed in her warm winter garb, relishing the sting every time she over extended her arm. Pulling on her long-sleeved forest green dress, her thick cloak and scarf, she watched the blood stain the elbow of her dress, a deep red mark, easily identifiable to any who saw it. Warm and clothed, she walked toward the door, and descended the stars out of the Solar Wind Apartments.

She knew that if she chose, she could hide from Dariel, and never see him again. The city of Lhavit was big, with many alleys to hide in if she saw him coming. Their last meeting had left her shaken, and she had fled, the cowardly woman she was: certain her words were not up to the task of saving Johanne from heartbreak. Dariel had thought she was beautiful. The words ever spun through her mind, repeating themselves. She had tried to understand what he had meant. She had tried to banish them from her mind. But he would not be silenced: his words reverberated through her head, whenever she had a moment of thought and silence.

And so Johanne released herself to the inevitable meeting of the two strange souls once again. She padded across the near-silent Surya Plaza, her feet leaving footprints in the soft snow, Lhavit still awakening from their slumber. She relished the peace, with only the snow to watch her thoughts. The chill froze along her skin, leaving no place of her untouched, save the ever-blossoming warm blood that seeped from her elbow. Surrounded by high skyglass buildings in the large meeting square, Johanne prepared her defences to meet Dariel once more.

If only he would apologise for calling her beautiful, say it was a mistake, a slip of the tongue, not what he meant.

Then she could release and destroy the warm bubbling within her chest: hope.

[Dariel]

Temperatures had been in steady decline over the past few days, but Dariel didn't mind one bit. The cold kept his head level, his senses sharp and his body feeling taut. There was little he didn't enjoy about the weather. Now even less so. The moment he'd opened his eyes, Dariel had known something was off. A few heartbeats had had to pass before his brain had finally told him that the light streaming in from inside was wrong. Syna had just begun her ascent, the light should have been soft and muted. Instead it was harsh and stark. The first snow, and not too soon. So great was the relief he felt that it wasn't enough to intellectually know it was there, he had to roll from his bed and step to the window to watch the whitened world himself. It was every iota as beautiful as he had hoped. Of course, soon all the city's boots would rise to tread white into grey, powder into sludge and beauty into banality. But he'd have this one perfect moment. And promises to keep. But promises would have to wait five more chimes. Winter was still in its crib and the first snow was already falling. Dariel felt the need to express his gratitude to the one responsible. He knew no prayers, he knew no rites. Instead he set foot outside, only having bothered to even put on pants so as to not have to deal with the neighbors. Shaping three balls of snow, the first so big he needed two hands to cup it, the second barely larger than his fist and the last fitting into same fist, he stacked them on top of each other. It might have been the most ridiculous depiction of Morwen, maybe of any God, ever. But it was sufficient for his needs. His next step was to simply prostrate himself before the crude idol, arms stretched wide and, along with chest and face, pressing deep into the snow as he so knelt. He imagined himself colder than even the snow, to where its touch would warm him, but even that proved little defense to his body fast growing stiff, then numb. When he thought he could not bear it anymore, he made himself hold out for three more breaths before sitting up again. Dariel had no idea what he had done if snow hadn't come. He had no intention of finding out. Nor any need. It was here now. He'd had his time to think, had come to no conclusion and admitted that the only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted to see the scar-clad girl again. Even if he only stood to make an even bigger fool of himself than he already had. Anything he wanted do or say could only be misinterpreted as something base, he knew. Still he had no intention of giving up without having tried. The first time he had found he was not the only one walking outside of society's grace here in this City of Stars, it had been too much of a surprise to make much of it. When he'd met Johanne he'd been more prepared. He knew that only this kind of person could offer him the kind of company that could stimulate and satisfy. Only his peers could do that. Only his equals. But to wear one's soul laid bare on one's skin. The ingenuity of it, the audacity.. the artfulness, the determination, then sacrifice, in short, the beauty of it. And its bearer... Washing himself off with handfulls of snow, then going back inside to warm numb limbs for a moment before wrapping himself in his robes and cloak took only as much time as the feeling needed to return to his hands. Bolting out the door, long but slow strides took him onto the street and forwards towards Surya Plaza, or as far as was needed.

[Johanne]

Her footfalls were slower than what was justified, as she walked through the snow. Her hands covered by warm gloves, she felt strangely uncomfortable, not being able to look over her scars as she walked. The sight of an artwork over her skin usually calmed her, even if the world questioned her sanity for it. But the cold dictated that she shy her skin away from the biting winds, even if the snowfall were not as violent as it could have been.

It would almost be more poetic if the first snow of the season had been a blizzard, wreaking havoc through the city for days, leaving the citizens cooped up and restless inside their skyglass home. She would have ventured forth in the wake of nature's anger to see the man who had so shaken her very equilibrium. She had left early that day, in order to have the space to think what it would mean, who Dariel Masute was and why his words should shake her so. But in the silence that had come in the days since, Johanne realised but one thing: to be alone offered no answers.

And that was why, with no words on her tongue and too much hope in her heart, when she saw a shape enter the Surya Plaza, she stopped. In this white world, there was no one awake, no one yet ventured out into the snow (though later the children would emerge, screaming and laughing, snowmen and snowfights), and so the only souls who braved the cold had matters of the heart and soul to attend to. People like Dariel and Johanne.

She stood still. There was no point moving toward him. She had crossed over two thirds the Surya Plaza, the last few moments would be for him. She thought hard, wishing for words to emerge and grace her lips, but none came. She was left with a pounding heart and shivering fingers; not entirely from the cold.

When he was close enough that she could make out the sharp line of his nose, and the shocking snowwhite of his hair, close enough for Dariel to see the blossom of blood on her dress, she spoke.

"The first snow has fallen. I was on my way to the Good Book to see you."

It was as unassuming a greeting as ever, but no doubt matters of the heart, and matters of the skin would be revealed not long after. Dariel had a way in seeing beneath the surface, and this time...

This time Johanne had resolved to let him.

[Dariel]

True to form, Dariel had not simply walked through the snow, he'd soldiered. In spite of feeling a tinge of guilt every time he left a bootprint in the white where it had still been pristine, he'd taken long stride after long stride. And when he had spotted the frail figure across the plaza his steps had quickened again. Even though he wasn't even sure what he wanted from Johanne. He steadied himself with the thought that she was new and extraordinary and libertinous and he was hungry for all of that. That their shared disregard for what other people told them they were supposed to like or do was a bridge they had to each other was undeniable. But there was more. As with him, most of the interesting bits were buried, hidden under the skin, even if Johanne's skin itself was a work of art and novelty and certainly something he'd love to explore image by image. Wondering how far her scars reached put him in a surprisingly carnal state of mind and thus he usually tried to suppress that thought. But that got harder the closer he got to her he found. He had a hard time coming to terms with it. He knew who he was and who he was should be more interested in the hidden passions, no, obsessions that lay beneath that skin. But it was so many things, all the things he'd already told her about and things that were harder to put in words. It was just so... visceral that there was no way around it. At least it wasn't the only thing. What he'd seen hints of lay underneath was certainly not without interest, and what kind of mind came up with this ritual imagery? He'd need to find out. All of it. Johanne's mind, her heart, none of it worked like regular people. He couldn't foresee her thoughts or actions as he could with others. Indeed, their very first meeting had proven that. Now they met for the second time. Just a few more steps now, a few more since Johanne had stopped in the middle of the square. One more, and another one and the last step saw Dariel crashing into Johanne's personal space like a knife between ribs, a smile bordering on a grin smeared across his face, hands coming up just a little. Dariel had to push himself. His instinct was to lock up, stay at sword length, play it cool. Which he knew lead nowhere. Instead his fingers seized and gathered a handful of cloak to either side of her hips, cramping into the cloth until Johanna would feel the backs of his knuckles brush against the layers and flesh and bone beneath. There was to be more, but Dariel was Dariel and a decade of reflexes not an easy opponent. When he did lock up he was indecently close but not threateningly so. Trying to sound nonchalant he mused a somewhat breathy, "I never said you could not come earlier. Or as often as you wanted. I became impatient." and then "Hello." Maybe it was for the better that he'd locked up. She'd stopped ahead of him. His gaze danced across her eyes. Was she scared? Resentful for one of those inexplicable reasons only women seemed to be aware of? Just as lost as he was?

[Johanne]

Johanne watched Dariel draw ever closer, like an oncoming storm. His hair was white as the world, and his skin seemed to melt into the earth, as pale as it was. Her joints felt distantly cold, and she knew she would feel the ache later that day: she was too thin for the cold, but the heat of Dariel's determined gaze thawed the cold around her heart.

And though she had resolved herself to opening up her flesh and mind to this young man, and to doing so totally and freely this time, she had not been prepared for such enthusiasm on his part. Her eyes wide, her hands flew up slightly, as his reached out and pulled her hips to him. She could feel his fingers pressing into her bony hips, feel his hands holding her frame through layers of fabric. The cold air before her lips was suddenly warmed, as they shared the same breathing space. His eyes were just the tiniest distance away, and her heart thudded recklessly. She had not been prepared for such an intimate closeness with a man she knew so little.

They had had one meeting in one little bookshop, and he had made one little comment, and her whole world had shifted to accomodate him. It was strange, and Johanne was struck with the image as a dream that may have come to her: in a field of snow white, she rested her hands uneasily upon his chest, while he held her hips tenderly, eagerly. She licked her lips, pale pink, their skin chapped by the morning chill, and opened her mouth slightly: to say what?

His warmth from being so far into her space made the chill a little bearable, but even at the age of twenty one, she had only been caressed by one man. That man had been the one to show her scars and smiles, to show her kisses and carvings. He had called her beautiful, and she had returned the favour.

And that was why Dariel had startled her so: he had called Johanne and her scars beautiful, and now she was left with the irony of the reversed memory. She was now Joseph, and Dariel, Johanne. Did this mean she should kiss him, infect him with her restlessness, and he should go home to blood and split skin? To carry on the flame, as it were?

But startled from the thoughts that had spun through her mind endlessly for the past few days, Dariel spoke, and his grin was sweet. It seemed genuine to Johanne, and she knew his flesh was pure. Dariel was a man, she would guess, who was picky in his interactions. He had spoken before of those outside the moors of tradition, and so that he was so eager and smiling to see her bloody frame again was just a little heart-thawing. She met his gaze, suddenly feeling warm in more than just flesh, and smiled. It was a genuine smile, bordering in a grin, like Dariel's.

"Perhaps will be the second meeting of many, then," she whispered back, their quiet voices carrying in the silence of snow. That was if she could tell her story of Joseph and her flesh without him leaving, without him scaring off. "Hello."

If Johanne were honest with herself, she wished for Dariel to stay in her world. But she could not for the life of her figure out exactly why.

"How have you been? Since I saw you last?" The question was so strange, so innocuous. So at odds with their position, with his arms on her hips and her palms on his chest, and their lips nearly touching. But she could not touch on truth and honesty so soon: she would at least lead with an easy-going honesty and openness, like the way she had been when she stumbled into the Good Book, before he opened up her flesh for him to stare into.

[Dariel]

Dariel was as glad he'd stopped when he did as he was furious with himself for it. As he was furious with himself for going as far as he had to begin with. What had he been trying to do? Hug Johanne? Kiss her? All he knew for sure was that he had no ulterior motive. Which put him as far out of his element as he dared to imagine. But his fingers felt comfortable even as they were cramped into her clothes, even as the hard angle of her hips seemed to want to cut through the cloth and his knuckles alike. It all felt comfortable. While he didn't mind the cold he had at least noticed it before. Not so anymore. The air between them, not even enough space to fit another of them or at least not easily, was warm, almost as warm as the deep brown of Johanne's eyes. Dariel's smile persisted, softened a little, became words as he hurried to answer her question, no matter how silly or superficial it all seemed. "Restless. Restless and confused." he admitted honestly if vaguely. He was too pragamtic to let the meandering thoughts keep him from functioning. Keeping up his practice, taking care of those things that needed taking care of. He didn't need to tell her he'd been restless cause he'd been waiting for the first snow. He didn't need to tell her that he couldn't even make up his mind about Johanne. He wanted to sit with her by a fire, back to back, and talk for bell upon bell. He wanted to carry her off, bed her down and do nothing but retrace every scar on her body. He wanted her to tell him what was wrong with him. He wanted her to no longer bedevil him so that he could concentrate on setting up his life in Lhavit. But most of all he'd been wanting to just see her again. Having accomplished as much at least his restlessness had mostly subsided. Mostly, but not entirely as a spasm of the hand proved, an instinct to pull her even closer, her hands on his chest aside. It achieved nothing other than to state a point that kept causing him concern. Dariel was not in control of the situation. Neither seemed Johanne. They were cast adrift with only each other to nagivate by. If there were rules he was ignorant of them. Not that he would have bothered to obey them if they got in his way, but they might have provided some form of orientation. As matters stood, however, they had to make it up as they went. "You?" Dariel returned the question for lack of anything at all to say. "I saw red on you." Dariel added and his smile briefly deepend with a twitch of the thin lips. He made certain she knew he neither chided or worried even as he wondered if he was reducing her to her scars and their novelty value. That, too, only time and experience could tell. There was no point in even wondering, much less worrying. Wars were won one battle at a time. So what if he couldn't even see the battlefield, much less an enemy?

[Johanne]

Johanne wondered if she pressed her palms against his chest hard enough, could she feel his heart beating? But to attempt so would betray her draw to him, her need to feel his skin, his closeness. It was overwhelming, their magnetic pull towards each other, but now, so close to being in Dariel's embrace, she could not think of it in negative terms. The sting in her arm felt a distant summer away. Her worries of this morning felt silly now, with his hands on her hips.

She knew, though, somewhere, that if he should pull away from her, she would begin to doubt again. She formed her hands into fists, clutching at the fabric covering Dariel's chest, pulling him to her. It was a desperate attempt to keep Dariel looking into her eyes. An attempt to keep him wanting to know Johanne.

He answered with his gaze on hers, and a soft smile dancing on his lips: so amiss amongst the hard plains of his face, his high cheekbones, his nose. She felt, to her delight, his hands flutter on her hips, a spasm running through him as he spoke vague words. She shifted imperceptibly closer, knowing she would regret this when they inevitably separated. Now the gap between them was just that little bit smaller, and Dariel would be able to feel her warm breath upon his face when she spoke.

"I have been thinking." And she had. She need not tell him that she was no closer to answers or absolution than she had been when she had fled his little papermaking shop. She was a coward then, and all she had realised in the days that passed, was that Dariel was a man who could get under her skin like a stiletto knife. Before she could stop the words, "What have you been confused about?" bubbled out of her, with almost the same curiousness as had pervaded her lips when she had first stumbled into the Good Book. Though the naivety was lost: there was a desperation to her tone, almost pleading in silent words for him to tell her, and be honest.

Her gaze flickered down to the blood stain on her dress when he spoke of it, though her eyes did not fail to take in the flicker in his lips. She paused: was he amused? Amused that she had carved his hands into her skin forever? He had spoken of it as though it had meant nothing, but to Johanne, she afforded all the ritual seriousness to each carving, each scar. "Yes," she allowed, hesitantly. "I have a new scar."

She could have brushed it off: she might have fallen, or an accident while she was working, but it would have made no difference. Dariel's eyes were quick and perceptive, and he would have known if she had lied. He had seen the beginnings of her scars, the ones on her forearms, that day at the shop. Today in the white snow, there was no hiding such a colour as the blood red that now adorned her khaki dress. "I told you before, I think," and her voice was quiet, scared, "that I must keep interfering with the scab, the healing process, if I want the scar to last. I have been picking at this one for the last few days. That is where the blood has come from." She felt this compulsion to tell Dariel what the scar was of, but she kept that secret for now. Plenty of time for him to peel back the layers of Johanne later.

It struck her then that Lhavit would be awakening, opening shops, stumbling out into the white snow-filled plaza. She hesitated once more, thinking. But before she could think too long and think of all the reasons she should not, she betrayed her rational self. "Would you like to come up? I live just over there. In the Solar Wind Apartments. It is a little quieter and warmer there, and we could ... talk."

[Dariel]

Dariel had neither the need nor the intention to lie. But he still had a sense of self-preservation. A voice in the back of his head that yelled at him to exert control over the situation. But the situation was something beyond his control. It was simply happening. One thing he could control though was what he spoke, to an extent. Therefore, when asked what he was confused about, his answer was the only partially correct, "You." as opposed to the more appropriate us. It was simply too presumptuous to suit him. Not that Johanne's hands balling around the silken robe and reeling him in didn't speak a clear language. He replied in the same language by leaning another degree or two into her fists, enough for her to feel the weight, enough to bring him precariously close. Any closer and he would run the risk of nicking her skin with his nose. And he might not even notice as his eyes remained fixated on hers, pale and cold on rich and warm, like snow to earth. Was this too close? Not close enough? What did Johanne want? Did she know? Because Dariel didn't know anymore if he ever had. These were primal instincts he hadn't even known he had at work here. They existed outside of reason, outside of his ability to even put words to them and certainly outside of his ability to influence their course. Though he might restrain his body and speech if he so chose, the urge itself defied any form of intellectual approach. When Johanne spoke of her new scar, the urge demanded that he see it. Put his fingers to it and, if they proved too dull of an instrument to properly feel the lay of the land, his lips if need be. But he did not. Nor did he chide her for putting on her clothes over a bleeding wound. That stain would be a pain to wash out. An odd, stray thought. But reassuring in the way that it went well with his usual mode of being. "At this rate you will run out of skin before you run out of impressions worth ingraining into it." Dariel murmured into the tiny space separating them, his breath brushing past her cheeks as cloudy filaments. The tone of his voice was somehow off though. Was he teasing, or at least trying to? Even he couldn't tell. He was trusting the current as long as he saw no harm on the horizon. At any rate it was a sensible warning, and had indeed been one of the many swirling dancing thoughts of Johanne he had had in the meantime. If his reaction caused Johanne any consternation, she still had his smile to set her at ease, or so it stood to hope. His hands still clamped to her garb. Their gazes still locked. In all this turmoil, both in the world about them as it glazed over with snow as well as inside of them, inside of him that he knew of,there was harmony here. Not the harmony of a steady equilibrium, but a harmony as found in music. A dynamic harmony. A harmonious dynamic. A lovely idea that splattered against an intellectual wall the moment Johanne suggested they retreat. As much as he wanted to be alone with her for many and varied reasons, as much as he'd dislike people suddenly filing out of their homes to bother them in their duality, Dariel had to wonder. Which motives exactly was Johanne pursuing? The situation hadn't changed: There was only one way to find out. "We will have to let go of each other. But yes, let us get you somewhere warm." More playfulness, at least with the first part of his reaction. Indeed he found he was reluctant to let go. He managed to loosen the grip of his hands but that was about as far as he got on this first try.

[Johanne]

Dariel's winter snow eyes were locked on Johanne's autumn brown. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip, ripping the membrane there, until it stung. They were so close that if she were to pull him any closer, their skin would brush fluttering against each other. She could barely feel the cold, so warm was his gaze, whereas before it had stung her every inch of exposed flesh. Dariel warmed her for the moment, with a simple word: 'you.'

"I have been confused about you, too," she whispered, nodding slightly, the tip of her nose almost gliding across his cheek. She need not offer anything else: his confusion would inform him of hers. For this moment, at least, their minds spun round and round one another, like a complex twisting dance by the Chandra. But sometime soon, Dariel and Johanne would have to stop, their ankles throbbing from the dance, sit by the fire and discuss the steps they had taken. Words could not go unspoken forever, when she had left so many thoughts unsaid at the Good Book.

She broke his gaze, to glance down to the way her fists gripped the silk robes he was wearing. The fabric slid so easily between appendages: would he slide as easily beneath her skin? Though Dariel seemed to do so effortlessly and without intention, Johanne at least hoped she could ascertain his purpose before she did so. But her racing heart did not want to take pause and think: it simply wanted Dariel to keep holding her hips forever.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, savouring the scent of Dariel's breath, the fluttering butterfly sensation as it caressed along her cheeks, when he spoke. His voice was almost warm, almost caring; and yet within his words were a lilting mockery, or at least as Johanne perceived it. It was almost as though his breath and hands on her made words seem and feel sweeter, words Johanne would have shied away from if they had not been so close. But they flew from his lips, and Johanne let them sink into her flesh without comment. There would be plenty of time to discuss her flesh and his mind inside her warm apartment.

And then Johanne shocked herself. At his acquiescence, she shook her head. "We do not have to let go at all." Her hand boldly slid down the planes of his chest, hard and smooth beneath the silk, until her palm crossed his stomach and sought out his hand. If Dariel was willing, she linked her fingers with his, entwining their digits together, the warmth from his flesh warming her freezing joints. Still standing before him, she smiled nervously, hoping he would allow the caress, the display of intimacy. The world was silent still. There was no one to see their joining of hands, before their joining of minds.

She began to walk back the way she had come, following the footprints in the snow she had left before. "I have lived in the Solar Wind Apartments since I arrived here in Lhavit," she said, quietly, as the world watched their growing hearts silently. She did not quite know why she was revealing such irrelevant information, but the words made the fact that she was holding the hand of a man she barely knew a little more bearable. "It is quite comforting to know that I can step out of my small room at any hour of the day and there will be a whole world just beyond the doorstep."

Reaching the door of the Solar Winds Apartments, she pushed it open with the hand that was not entwined with Dariel's, if he still held her, and stepped inside the warm parlour. Nodding awkwardly at the patron by the desk, she head for the stairs without a word, without acknowledging that yes, Johanne was holding hands with a young, handsome man. They climbed the stairs together in silence, the winding staircase reflecting her circling thoughts. She led Dariel with a growing nervousness to the unassuming door that led into her room. Taking her hand with a sinking feeling from Dariel's, she turned away from him slightly, and reached surreptitiously into the bodice of her dress, withdrawing a single skyglass key.

"This is it," and she unlocked the door, swinging it open. Inside Dariel would see a simple, undecorated room: a low Lhavitian bed, a desk, a fireplace, an armchair and a couch. But piled onto the desk were pieces of paper, fresh and stained, with ink pots and quills everywhere. In the place of honour on her desk, centered, kept clean, was the stiletto knife that she used to make her skin a living artwork.

She worried on her bottom lip nervously, ushering Dariel inside. Hurrying over to the hearth, she bent over, striking flint at the fireplace until a small flame appeared and began to burn, growing in size: like the pull she felt to Dariel. Straightening, she turned to the young man, smiling awkwardly, shedding her cloak from her shoulders, and folding it onto the bed. "What do you think?" Without the fabric around her shoulders, the blood red stain was in full view, showing Dariel that Johanne had added another piece of art to her flesh.

[Dariel]

Dariel just had to tug at her again when she said she'd been confused about him too. But the statement elicited more than the subtle emotional response. They were talking code. Making up their own language of common words that achieved a deeper meaning by their shared understanding of the context. It was curious to observe how and how fast their familiarity grew. Frightening, too. How soon until they finished each other's sentences? They were so close, and had grown into it so easily. All concerns, all confusion aside he knew the same pull Johanne was so intimately aware of. If they stood here for much longer, who knew what would happen. While Lhavitians weren't known as prudes, it still would not do. Dariel was an intrinsically private individual, and Johanne seemed the same way. That, and if he was honest there was still much unclear between them that needed to be discussed and analyzed. Moving was the best thing they could do. When Johanne took his hand, the smile he could not shake flared into a grin. Johanne had arrived at the conclusion he had hoped she would come to. Had he manipulated her into it or were they simply thinking along the same lanes? To his surprise, the former thought did not fill him with apprehension. In fact it was reassuring. He was still who he was, all inward turmoil aside. His hand closed around hers without hesitation, gave it a squeeze and invested her with the power to guide him wherever she wanted. Him walking in silence while Johanne spoke of the world outside her door, their long legs strode through that world, gone white as it had. A whole world beyond the door. "Is that not true of all doors? Only the scope differs." It seemed pointless to be philosophical with her question. The words had seemed to come from far away, the impression of her cold fingers locked with his drowning out all others. When she let go he found himself in a room that reminded him of somewhere. "It looks like mine." Dariel meant the room, certainly. "I expected more decoration. Images all over the walls." He still meant the room, having taken notice of the designs stacked onto the desk. "Is that what you meant?" Was there a twinkle in his eyes? He hoped there was. While he had meant what he said he had also known what Johanne meant. Soft long steps took him to the fireplace. To Johanne. Long slender fingers glind under Johanne's hand, straightening her arm, angling it up. Grey seeming eyes lingered on the spot of crimson but it was his other hand that explored. Very very carefully, aware that he was toying with an open wound, never touching the exposed flesh but the tender hot skin beside. It overshadowed the lay of her wounds. Matched them. Dariel felt a tingle at the base of his spine. Eyes widening, Dariel withdrew his hand, raising fingertips stained and tickled pink, first to his eyes, then to hers. There were no words.There was nothing he could say. Little he could do other than to let Johanne read his face and hope for her to take her answers from its expression. And if that was not enough of an answer, maybe the fingertips of his yet clean hand tracing the raised edges of the divine symbol near her wrist unseen were any help.