He is a man of few words, but the dress pooling at her feet robs him of speech entirely.
She is beyond beautiful.
He wants desperately to hold her, touch her, kiss her and make love as they did a thousand years ago.
But his hands are now stained with blood. His lips have uttered lies.
She moves first, caressing his cheek. There is forgiveness in her hands.
Tentatively, his hand comes to meet hers, before he matches her movements, reveling in the familiar yet alien softness of her skin.
They exchange no more words. Their hearts say it all.