Blackfeather Woods A Corpse in My Bed

He had witnessed her let out a breath, and had continued to observe her because of it. For some, any bit of their past was hard to speak of, and each individual reacted towards it differently. It caught him off guard, slightly, when she moved closer. It was hardly a change in the distance between them, yet it made a huge difference. His stomach churned and his chest ached, officially confirming his belief that he was, without a doubt, ill in some fashion. While those two things could be explained by a type of sickness, the need he felt to get even closer to her was something he could not find a reasoning for. Perhaps he was becoming delusional. It was far too early for dementia to set it, but... he wondered if that was the cause nevertheless. Why else would he seek the closeness to a woman he hardly knew? What would drive him to possess the desire to reach out and touch her? It made no sense, none at all, but for some reason that did not push him to get away from such feelings. Instead, without thinking, he reached out and touched his nose to her cheek, before pulling back and giving a gentle shake of his head. "Sorry," he murmured, unable to comprehend what had led him to do such a thing. Despite that, however, he could not deny that doing so had calmed his mind, even if the touch had been small and fleeting.

Words touched his ears, seemingly soft and deep in meaning. He agreed with what she said entirely, however it presented the question of what he needed. "I hope he can someday find that comfort he needs," Kove voiced, trying to lure his mind back towards his son, rather than his own selfish thoughts. "I want him to have a good life, to find someone he can seek comfort in and not be afraid to do so..." The Inuit, too, sought that for himself. The only difference where he was concerned being that he'd believed himself to had already found it, and then lost it soon after. Little did he know that what he was currently feeling, the calm that overtook his mind when so close to Nemesis, was the comfort one should truly seek. Not forced emotions driven by the want to settle down, but something that had developed all on it's own—something that had been destined, written out for him the second he was born. I want the same thing, he thought, though his tongue would not allow for the words to be spoken. They remained within his head, eating away at whatever barriers he had put up, and trying to find the source of his sudden change.