He remembers when they were just scratches.
She would be silent when the attacks came and her actions would reflect that. It was at first a mere tug on his uniform, and he would have to wait until the room was filled only by their own breathing. It never mattered to her how much time was engulfed, and he learned not to refuse. At first, it wasn't like that. He was going to question her actions (he wasn't worried about her one bit, though) but when the chance arose, the answer he received was muffled sobs.
It was probably the complexity of female emotions, but he never understood why she had told him everything. He knew what it was. Everyone in the household knew, it was complicated not to. He heard her defiance, he still heard them ringing in the deathly hollow hallways.
Because when something was caught in them, they never let you forget.
-
He remembers when scratches escalated into cuts.
These times, she couldn't wait until a room was empty, and approached him wherever, never seeming to realize when she wasn't needed. She would interrupt him in what he was doing, such as walking or writing, and completely disregard it. As these moments became frequent, he now had the duty of not only giving her silent emotional support, but physical support as well. He would have to hold her.
Because the damage was deeper, they were plentiful; especially around her arms and legs. This caused her to literally cling to his skeletal form, whispering about where it hurt most. She was beginning to blame herself for these, though her answers weren't very ridiculous. (She shouldn't blame herself, he thinks, as it's His fault, anyway.) She would never consider the fact that he was as drunk as a sailor.
-
He remembers when cuts formed wounds.
It was around this time that he began to question her sanity. The first instant in which she stumbled into his office (uninvited, per usual), he couldn't suppress the mixed feelings that appeared in his expression once he noticed that she had her hand trying to conceal the thick, dark liquid that leaked through her fingers. He was quick to react; in moments he is trying to bandage the injury while she doesn't seem to care about one bit. She is being uncooperative, making everything all the more difficult for the already tense situation. It was really beginning to driving his patience, "Natalia. Natalia. Calm down."
Maybe it was the hint of concern in his voice, but at that nonetheless she broke. She would bawl, her shouts muffled in his skimpy shoulder which allowed him a brief opening. Between sobs she'd start to explain the outrageous things she might have done that might have resulted in getting Him so angry, even going as far as thinking it was because of something as simple as not waking him up in the morning. He had to roll his eyes, but he was only human and so was she, and once her cries quieted, he had to reconsider. The only clear thing that came out of the already hectic situation was the feeling of her arms tightening their grip around his frail waist, "Eduard, my dear, dear Eduard … You're my only hold on the world …"
Somehow he highly disagreed.
-
He remembers when wounds spun out of control.
The lack of (visible) physical gashes on her frame was probably the explanation as to the reason his brothers were gaining their own. But because her visits to him didn't cease, he knew it wasn't going too well for her, either. But this time, it was personal. He didn't understand why she still acted as though she was the only victim, which had his blood boiling. He also didn't understand why she went to him, of all people, even more so.
He couldn't fully explain his actions the day that she had seated herself upon his desk, disclosing everything that He had done to her as he dressed a rather deep cut located on her arm, but he just couldn't take the complete and utter suffocation of the pressure anymore. He hated doing these trivial things for her, cleaning and bandaging wounds, silently supporting everything that she had done until this moment – it was all too much.
"Natalia, why did you choose me?"
His voice comes out too rough from all the concealment. He has no idea how she will react humanly to this, (if she's going to be human at all) and really, doesn't know what she will say or do. And for the instant it terrifies him. It terrifies him when she rotates herself to look at him. It terrifies him when she tugs him closer and tightly locks her arms around his neck. It terrifies him when they are locked in that position for longer than he wishes.
"Oh, Eduard," She breathes, her voice beginning to catch in her throat. "You're my only hold on the world."
Her grip around his neck tightens.
"You know that, right?"
He can't breathe.