He isn't sure just how he's supposed to touch her. Her essence is something so very pure, despite the fact that it's been technically processed time and again. He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he marvels at just how in-tact she seems to be. Naturally, a woman reborn twice should undergo some changes, the proverbial caterpillar-to-butterfly analogy works well when applied to her, but in essence, Jillia remains unchanged. She'll always smile at him like that. It'll always sound like rain when she laughs. It's why he's not sure how to touch her. The last time he did, after all, he broke her quite willingly.

She's clearly frustrated and exerting no effort to hide the fact. The door to her room is closed, locked, and standing in the way of the world right now. Two, small candles are burning and flickering, shadows dancing across the dimly-lit room. She watches them play on the bed, tangling up and melding together in a way that makes her jealous. She looks over at Veck, standing on the other side of the room watching her as though he's looking to see something new and wishes that he would let it go. She isn't going to break, and she needs him more than ever now. It would take a second for him to depart. One second, and he could run away like he always did.

He could snap his fingers, if he so wished it. He could be gone from this stifling, awkward situation with the impure shadows and the wife aiming to bridge the gap between them this very evening. He doesn't think he's worthy, and he's not sure she's really ready to make the decision she seems to have already made. Mostly, he wants to be gentle with her, and if recent years would provide any indication, he's not sure he can be gentle with anything anymore. The shadows flicker across his face, and he wonders why he hasn't taken his leave yet.

Sometimes she wonders if she has to do everything herself. When she raises to her feet, it seems almost like an act of aggression, despite the fact that her small, bare feet fall so delicately on the wooden floor. He hasn't moved yet. It's a start. The air is thick, but it's time, and he knows it. If not now, then never. She wasn't aware when the plan was shaped that this moment would become so very crucial, but it's now of never at this point. Everything is so very heavy, and the burden is decided now. Shall it remain eternally, or shall it be lifted? When she approaches him, she waits. She wants to reach out and touch him, but she knows that this has to come from him. So, she gazes up at him with wide eyes, pleading silently because words just aren't relevant at this point.

He doesn't look away from her as she corners him, lost in her eyes and understanding exactly what they're trying to tell him. Doubts and reservations abound, but he looks closer into those eyes regardless, finding something that urges him to step forward and reach out to touch her cheek. His large hand lingers there, and he continues to stare. He's not sure that he's worthy; in fact, he's almost one-hundred percent sure that he isn't, but she's standing before him right now needing him in a way that he once thought only he needed her. It's then that he finds himself beginning to understand. He probably isn't worthy of love. Who is? He's fortunate to have her here in his arms, willing and filled with forgiveness.

Though he hasn't closed the space between them yet, she smiles because she can see in his eyes exactly what he can see in hers. It took him long enough, but he's getting it finally. She opens her mouth to say aloud what wells up in her heart, but he silences her by placing a finger to her lips. 

He steps forward, away from the safety of the wall, body pressed against hers as his strong arms engulf her completely. He's afraid, but it needs to be and he wants it to be. He needs to immerse himself in her, to remind himself of what it's like to drink her presence and breathe in her scent. It isn't a question of want or fear or apprehension anymore; it's a question of desperately needing everything that is and has to offer. He smiles, a tender smile that's completely unlike the smirk he usually wears, as he sees her flush before dipping his head down to press his lips firmly and without hesitation against hers. And there in the dancing shadows, the distance isn't so great. 

Words aren't enough right now; in fact they aren't even neccessary.