[ the rust can subside from her hand, finding other spots to localize. he's a tactile person too—he's happy to take the risk for a moment's touch.

but sometimes, talking to her is like hearing his own, frantic negotiations. stubbornly finding the good in all the murk. how convincing do they sound? the eye somehow seems to blink at her. another does from his shoulder, his throat. but he doesn't withdraw. ]

Rosamund...

[ he's really put her through it. he really became her friend instantly and then left her behind. ]

I wish... I truly wish you hadn't been alone. [ when she'd died. ] If anything, I am the selfish one—I'm grateful you were there.

[ as much as he should've spared her the experience, maybe it was better than—waking up and hearing he'd died overnight? this place is awful. after a moment, he reaches for another accessory, a decorative gorget. mostly to keep both of them busy. ]

Here. Will you help me with this too?