'Come now, lady.'

She regards me warily as I carefully take up the slim fingers of one pale hand, tucking them into the velvet-clad crook of my arm. I walk her to the door of the windowless, cheerless room where she has spent all her days since I brought her to the northern fastness. Do I burn her, I wonder, through the cloth of my robe, with the life running through me and the purpose of the east in my veins? There is a burning in her, a cold fire that chills me through the rich fabric. My flesh repulsed by the touch of her, mayhap.

Days pass and something happens.

Granted, most of that something consists of me being terribly cold, coughing uncontrollably and occasionally sneezing for good measure. It consists of me feeling terrible, with weary limbs and eyes and a hollowness where something once was. That, however, is to be expected given what has recently occured and I know that this will soon pass. It better had, lest dear Blodwynn stuff me silly with cake, tea and her mothers cooking!