She was pale, breathing guided by the tube inserted into her throat, vitals monitored by wires and tubes. Her hand, when he touched it, was cold to the touch, oddly clammy. There was no sign of reaction from her at all.<br/><br/>The silence lasted... and lasted. Finally, after a great while, something began to change. Assuming he was still paying attention after so long, he would notice a very slight warmth in her hand. The warmth wasn't felt though the skin so much as it was sensed. It was faint. Barely there at all. It never got any stronger, nor did it fade.<br/><br/>This whole time, her mind would have been open, calling to any within range. Her draw was weak, faint, almost impossible to feel. It was weakened even further by the fact that it was unfocused, spreading out from her in a broad wave. Any who felt it would feel relaxed and heavy, without knowing why. Should they remain at her side, close enough to feel the draw, they would begin to feel drowsy and warm. Through his touch on her hand, should he keep holding it, he would feel this just a bit stronger than he would otherwise.<br/><br/>The sensation would not grow stronger or fade at all. However, like the tapping of a gentle drop of water, over and over, the light touch would feel stronger and stronger as it continued. Sleep would press harder and harder on him. Finally, if he at last succumed to it, he would find himself drifting off into dreams, carried on a river of warmth. He would be swept away on the current, to find himself standing back in the destroyed library.<br/><br/>All would be as he remembered it. Silent, still, in shambles. However, some of the books, should he look closely, were now stacked neatly on the floor, as if someone had begun sorting through them to try and restore order. If anyone had been here at all, they were here no longer.