Roan let her see him the way he was. They were laid bare for a moment, her last. Did she understand him, in all his ragged honesty? He was afraid of it, but he invited it, too. She was raw, as well, desperate for something, as all mortal things are, but even in all this turmoil she seemed softer than most, like she'd seen it before. There was a trust in there too, one he couldn't answer or fulfill. It wasn't in him to stop, now that he'd started. He wondered if her beauty, like so many other beautiful things, could be blamed for her demise. His flower in a full blown spring, hurrying toward winter wilt.<br/><br/>He rested his forehead to hers, like she would let him do sometimes when his brain was shaking with the truths that the ether fed him. There was no comfort in the contact now, more than the memories of their friendship could give. The friction of the sadness against his heart reminded him that there was still something there. Nothing to grasp, perhaps, not really, but something from the past that was reaching, still. She was warm - she had left that in herself, a parting gift that would be spent if he didn't enjoy it. He stroked her neck with fingertips. Such a fateful column. It had betrayed her in the end, like he had.<br/><br/>He laid on her and listened to his own heart with his ear to her chest. Her breast was still daunting, and he thought to have her, but he tried to resist it. Perhaps when she'd gone cold the urge in him would know to subside. How useless to practice self-control now, when she could have no possible benefit from it. Emotional Iris, laid to rest in his bed. He sensed his own sadness about it, the real thing, looming on his own emotional horizon. Roan wanted to have it, as though that could be penance. It didn't seem important, so the black claws could not find purchase in him yet. He was sure the numbness would put down its role as shield soon, to be part of his torment.<br/><br/>He sat up on her to look down. How unfitting that he was still aroused. Without honor, Roan tried a tit in his hand. A shell, her body, but beautiful still. When it had been full of everything that was her it had eluded him. She seemed applogetic about that in life. Perhaps some part of her had known about this then, and avoided him because of that. He sighed. No. She'd never known. That was where his frustration had come from. And now she might, and carried that lesson with her to wherever hereafter, so he could be judged for it when he followed. He stroked her nipple with his thumb affectionately, like examining a flower head in your hand. How shallow lust can be.