She woke to the gold flecked eyes peering into her own with worry, dread,and stale panic. In slow motion, she watched the twitch of his lip give way to words, "Sanria... why did you do that?" She smiled through the exhaustion and took stock. She was, indeed, alive as she'd anticipated. Healed, near to full, as she'd figured. She now looked into the face of fear, of utter concern. He'd wanted to be there, to guide the little soul on its way back to the cosmos. She'd wanted to be alone, to punish it into the ground to fester and rot.
When Gilean told her he was going to move Velentham's body, some exotic tendril snapped in her mind, whipped free in the wind of anger and panic, and demanded to know where he'd be buried next. She didn't want to lose tabs. She knew it was only his carcass - his soul had flown home - but the putrid corpse below the soil was the one place she had to direct every drip of ire, every spear of hate, every tide of loathing. She'd scalded through the dirt to char his body with her churning emptiness. She forced him to give back to her what he'd taken, then realized that he was gone. Velentham was free, so free from all he'd done... but she owned his body. The thought of Gilean stealing it from her caused the panic and alarm to manifest as a sneer. Velentham was her property.
She wanted Gilean to take away any ability to have children, but his face so easily betrayed his feelings. He still wanted a child with her. Not right away, but sometime. 'Why?' Sanria thought. 'Why a child with me?' Her voice, however, did not ask. She felt herself wondering if it weren't simply a way to solidify his ties to her - to bind them together - to keep her from Colin. Her voice, however, did not speak. She gave a partial smile, a nod, and watched the gold-flecked eyes, face of concern, turn away to rest. He expected her to do the same, thinking the words, "It will all be alright," would be no less than 100 percent true.
