Nerdanel sees the darkness in his eyes, and the spark within - fever bright - that illuminates the mania. She sees the way he parts his lips, gaze hungry, when he looks at his creations. More than once she has caught him staring at them; just staring, the joyous silver light reflected in his eyes becoming somehow lifeless when transferred to warm flesh.
He kept the door to the workshop shut all day and refused to come to dinner for the fourth time that week, claiming he was working. But Carnistir noticed that the forge was never turned on, and when she thinks back Nerdanel realizes she never once heard the dull clang of the hammer on the anvil while she sculpted in her room.
His strong jaw is too often clenched in defiance, in needless pride and challenge. When he speaks, his words are sharp and emotionless; if she is lucky. If she isn't, he is venomous, covetous, and cruel. Even towards Curufinwë he is impatient and scathing, and the other brothers he almost always ignores. Nerdanel gets to receive both treatments, and she cannot decide which is worse: anger or indifference.
He still sleeps with her, sometimes, but it is different. He is rough, insistent, and violently lustful, demanding her love when he barely offers any affection. His love has become just as harsh as his hatred.
Then, of course, he has to go and make her believe there is still hope. Sudden warmth, a tender kiss, and the depths of his dark eyes locked onto hers and she can't bring herself to leave him. They fight, sometimes, but he can always manipulate her, pull her back under his spell just long enough that he can go back to his workshop.
And lock the door.