The feel of the silk flowing across her skin stirred her senses into a kind of frenzy. To Claire, silk was anticipation. It was neither good nor evil, but an article that definitely belonged in one of two categories. And to Claire, silk was always and without exception, associated with death. How proper for her to have found Myrnin's trunk of silken fabrics after being sent to look for a cloth to clean up a puddle of blood in the middle of the floor in the lab.

Not hers. Not Myrnin's. Just someone's generously (and most likely unwillingly) donated AB positive in a blood bag that had leaked onto the cement flooring of the laboratory.

Claire had gone to one of Myrnin's back rooms, but came by this trunk, one that she thought she would have found washcloths (or something along those lines that she could use to clean up the mess) in. In actuality, the trunk contained rolls of silk of all colors. The one on top was a deep purple that reminded Claire of royalty. She carefully took it out of the trunk and ran her hands across the material, wondering how old it was as she became overwhelmed with the conflicting thoughts that accompanied the idea of silk.

It was like dipping her hand into a pool of darkness—something slightly malefic—inexpertly exploring the unknown. But it was also like inhaling light: powerful, memorable, and pure.

"Claire?"

She jumped and whirled around as best she could from where she was kneeled on the floor.

He made a thoughtful sound at her instant reaction to his appearance. "Startling you was not my intent," Myrnin said, still standing in the doorway and looking at her curiously.

"Where did you get these?" she asked him after a moment, gesturing to the chest of silks.

Myrnin was quiet, taking a minute to observe the room and understand what she was asking. He seemed particularly nostalgic today, Claire noticed. He looked sadder than usual and got caught up in his own thoughts more often than he normally did.

"I don't know. A tailor, most likely." He entered the room and sat next to her, his arms and legs folding, causing him to appear to be all limbs. Myrnin ran a reverent hand over the purple cloth and sighed deeply. "I believe I had meant it to be a gift for Amelie. Not the silk alone, of course. A gown." He took the fabric in his hands and ripped a large piece from it, dismissing any and all worship in which he had held this memento a few minutes prior.

Claire's eyes followed the purple cloth in his hands. Myrnin stood and his face told her to follow him as he left the room. She did, silently, and they returned to the lab where the pool of blood was still sitting.

He dropped the silk on top of the puddle and they both watched as the material soaked up the dark red. She watched him. Myrnin seemed to become bitterer and bitterer with each drop the silk absorbed. Soon enough, his lips were twisted into a sneer he probably had no idea he was making. Claire stayed quiet, though; any sound that intruded upon his silence could send him into a fit of grief, judging from the mood he was in.

His eyes suddenly met hers and in them, she saw unease from ancient memories swirling behind his gaze. She gave him a soft upturn of her lips to let him know that she was there for him. His scornful smile disappeared slowly as he stared at her.

"Dance with me," he said.

Claire's brows came together in confusion. That wasn't what she had been expecting.

Myrnin held out his hand and she took it tentatively. Her hand was small in his and hot by comparison. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles subconsciously as he used their conjunction to bring her closer to him.

"I—don't know how," she admitted as blood crept into her cheeks.

"Stand on my feet, then. Put your hand on my shoulder like so. Good. Keep your back straight and your shoulders steady—yes, just like that. Now hold tight to me and move as I do."

She was so close to him that she could feel his light breath on her face as he instructed her. When she looked up into his gaze, it was as if Claire had passed some kind of wall that obstructed her view from him because now she could see him so clearly. All of his insanity, all of his calculated control, she saw in the depths of his eyes and in the contours of his face. Had Myrnin always had that slight wrinkle between his brows that spoke of how often they furrowed in contemplation?

"Are you nervous?" he asked, looking down at her against him. Claire would have lied, but she was sure he could feel her heart threatening to pound itself out of her chest and knock against his own. She let that be answer enough, and his lips turned soft around the edges in sympathy. "I'll be careful."

With that, Myrnin began their 'dance,' and he let her get used to his movements before he started spinning and twirling them around in the dimness of the lab. It was breathtaking for Claire to be so gracefully led while also being so close to him. Under her feet, Myrnin's own stepped around the room skillfully as he directed them in what she thought might be a waltz.

At the next spin that sent Claire's hair flying behind her, she couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat. It escaped as a giggle and the blush that followed made Myrnin smile too.

"I think…," he began hesitantly, keeping focused on the dance while also maintaining a strong hold on his thoughts. "I think you make me well, Claire. And I am sorry to be such a burden on your small, fragile heart. I suppose it's quite selfish of me to want you here all of the time, but you are the light in my dark."

Claire was shocked. She didn't know what to say. Myrnin must have seen this in her eyes because he continued.

"You are the only good in my life right now. You help me recall memories of happiness from my past that I cannot remember when I am… feeling lost."

She was too embarrassed to look at him directly, so she mindlessly observed the way the fabric of his black T-shirt moved as they danced.

"You're—you're not a burden… I like coming down here," was the only thing she could mutter.

He breathed a soft laugh and said, "Your words are too gentle for a beast like me."

Slowly, they came to a stop and remained standing together—Claire on top of his shoes and his hand still intimately holding her waist, their chests pressed together. Curiously, experimentally, Claire's gaze met his but she looked away quickly because there was too much emotion in them. An emotion she couldn't understand.

Myrnin let go of the hand supporting her own, causing her to grip his waist so she could keep her balance. He moved his hand between them, cupping her chin between his fingers and bringing her to look into his eyes. She felt herself melting against him and she suddenly wanted to cry. Claire had seen this man turn into a monster and a raving lunatic, how was it possible for him to be so tender to her now?

"Myrnin, I—"

Whatever she had been about to say (because not even she knew what was going to come out of her mouth then) was cut off when his lips covered hers in a very delicate kiss. It was so carefully controlled that it made Claire's tears leak from under her closed lids. She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes while still balanced on the top of his shoes, deepening the intimacy. Myrnin's hand came up to her cheek and, when he felt the streaks of wetness there, gingerly broke them apart.

"Please," he said. "Don't cry over me." The frown line between his eyebrows was prominent now. "I don't deserve such innocent tears."

She didn't know what was making her so sad.

"I'm sorry." It was becoming difficult for her to speak as more tears fell. "I don't know—"

Myrnin ran his knuckles across her cheek, catching some of the drops and preventing them from descending down her face. "You're too young to weep so beautifully."

Suddenly she realized why she was crying.

Claire wasn't fragile, as people told her over and over again. She wasn't weak or vulnerable. Myrnin was fragile. He was broken. He had chosen her to love because she made him remember happiness. And for some reason, that made her the saddest of all… because he had just revealed to her that he couldn't remember happy things until she had come along.

Claire was crying because even after all of his pain, he could still love. And that wasn't monstrous at all, so why did everyone—including himself—think he was some kind of demon? Why did he torture himself with self-hatred when he should be considerate of his own mind and be gentle and forgiving?

"You make me sad," she said. There was no contempt in her voice—no outright hurt. It was merely an observation. A scientific reflection.

Myrnin wiped away the final remnants of her crying from her cheeks and kissed her lips chastely. He embraced her protectively and rested his chin on her head as a tear rolled from the corner of his own eye and down his face.

"I make me sad, too."