He wished he remembered something other than this. His unconscious mind did that deep part of him where all his tactile and muscle memories were kept. Yes it remembered things he could not. As she laid there against him he would unknowingly run his fingers through her long hair like a comb. He would work out any knots gently; it seemed he had done this a hundred times before now; that was the only explanation for how skilled his hands were at this. And yet he had no idea at first that he was even doing it; nor why. His unconscious mind just told him to do it, and his hand responded with unwavering trust. Truth was, he would do this for his wife every night to put her to sleep; and would do the same for his daughter as well.
But he was unaware of this, just like he was unaware that once she lay against him his heart rate slowed. His mind calmed down, for the same reason though. His wife would sleep like this against him every night back in his house in Ravok. But he didn’t remember them, however; his body did. It was odd, her presence made him so very calm. Her head against his shoulder felt perfect. The tendrils of her hair moving between his hands gently slicking across his skin…that felt…right. But he didn’t know why, he couldn’t remember it. But part of him did. Part of him knew very well. It was a habit whose purpose was completely lost to him. Like wiping away her tears gently with his warm hand…habits he couldn’t remember forming.
He knew how to hold her. Truth be told her body was much the same as his previous wife. They were built the same. And her body fit perfectly against his. She would hear his heart beat rhythmically, telling her he was still alive…still fighting this.
“I can’t remember anything before this. Every day I lose more of my past with nothing to remind me of where I came from nor who I am. So I am Seven because that is all I remember. For all I know I deserve this; I could be a criminal who murdered hundreds. But…” He paused as he shrugged a little and ran his hand through her hair some more straightening it out calming her mind, “I could be completely innocent as well. I know not which.”
But she would. She would know he was no mass murderer. Even if he were did he really deserve this? No, she could feel how gentle his touch was, how true his words were. No murderer was this gentle…this caring for others in her position. If he were as wicked as he thought he would take advantage of her even though she was in this cage. He wouldn’t pull her into his warmth and cover her with the only blanket he had to shelter her from the winter. A killer wouldn’t show compassion like he did. But he was so unsure of his origins.
“Sleep, dream of home. I will make sure to wake you gently if I have to.” His hand was still running through her long hair and he just now noticed this might be…inappropriate.
Ashamed slightly he stopped and instead just put the arm around her and held her against him. He could feel her skin warming underneath the covers against him. And while she was there against his shoulder she could see his body well. His ribs…she could see them underneath his skin. He was horribly malnourished, and the scars…they were a horrible painting of pain across him. She could only begin to imagine how one would come to own scars like these. Some of them were new, very new still seeping blood from the scabs when they broke from his movement. That was likely why he tried to move as little as possible.
But he was unaware of this, just like he was unaware that once she lay against him his heart rate slowed. His mind calmed down, for the same reason though. His wife would sleep like this against him every night back in his house in Ravok. But he didn’t remember them, however; his body did. It was odd, her presence made him so very calm. Her head against his shoulder felt perfect. The tendrils of her hair moving between his hands gently slicking across his skin…that felt…right. But he didn’t know why, he couldn’t remember it. But part of him did. Part of him knew very well. It was a habit whose purpose was completely lost to him. Like wiping away her tears gently with his warm hand…habits he couldn’t remember forming.
He knew how to hold her. Truth be told her body was much the same as his previous wife. They were built the same. And her body fit perfectly against his. She would hear his heart beat rhythmically, telling her he was still alive…still fighting this.
“I can’t remember anything before this. Every day I lose more of my past with nothing to remind me of where I came from nor who I am. So I am Seven because that is all I remember. For all I know I deserve this; I could be a criminal who murdered hundreds. But…” He paused as he shrugged a little and ran his hand through her hair some more straightening it out calming her mind, “I could be completely innocent as well. I know not which.”
But she would. She would know he was no mass murderer. Even if he were did he really deserve this? No, she could feel how gentle his touch was, how true his words were. No murderer was this gentle…this caring for others in her position. If he were as wicked as he thought he would take advantage of her even though she was in this cage. He wouldn’t pull her into his warmth and cover her with the only blanket he had to shelter her from the winter. A killer wouldn’t show compassion like he did. But he was so unsure of his origins.
“Sleep, dream of home. I will make sure to wake you gently if I have to.” His hand was still running through her long hair and he just now noticed this might be…inappropriate.
Ashamed slightly he stopped and instead just put the arm around her and held her against him. He could feel her skin warming underneath the covers against him. And while she was there against his shoulder she could see his body well. His ribs…she could see them underneath his skin. He was horribly malnourished, and the scars…they were a horrible painting of pain across him. She could only begin to imagine how one would come to own scars like these. Some of them were new, very new still seeping blood from the scabs when they broke from his movement. That was likely why he tried to move as little as possible.
