[And in moments, Cain is dashing down the paths of Xandau, overcoat flying, carrying a coat, some spare cloak turned up in the Opera House closets, for her.
He knew she would still love another, the one who killed her, but just to have her near would be such solace after so long, if only to hold her as gently as he had when she first came back from the dead, green-handed and all but mad. Yes, the City draws in the dead and thank god it did.]
[She shivers, briefly, a tear slides down her cheek, hands clutch dress, and then she throws her arms around him, for all appearence bewildered, scared, lost.]
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And after the painting--
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Suzette...
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Where-
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I'll come to fetch you.
Tell me you're all right, please.
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I'm fine, Cain, just... I can't seem to find it...
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... Your ring and the finger on which you wore it.
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My ring.
[ooc; comment log is go?~]
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He knew she would still love another, the one who killed her, but just to have her near would be such solace after so long, if only to hold her as gently as he had when she first came back from the dead, green-handed and all but mad. Yes, the City draws in the dead and thank god it did.]
Suzette?!
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Cain- ?
[She starts, half standing]
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Suzette...
It is you...
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... Cain.
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He barely dares to touch her for fear that this may be only the most fragile of dreams...
But he dares to brush his fingers across her face, soft as snowflakes.]
It's all right. I promise it's all right.
My dear Suzette...
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Cain... I was so dark-
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