She moved with him, not even trying to walk her own way without his hand resting on her waist as it had lowered down from her shoulder. As she saw him stop in a darkened alcove of the ring, she gazed over his leaning body. Cloaks and damaged leather armour were hiding any further wounds she had noticed, taking his hand into her soft gloved fingers she inspected the loose flap of skin.<br/><br/>"The words of others is what defines you, like a colour is defined by the name we give it. What isn't discovered, doesn't exist in people's minds. Since the fear of others, and the confrontation I face everyday with that fear, it's something that has defined me since the day I died. Like every other experience, it gives me other perspectives of the definition of my being. I live with it, but try to protect others from what I have to face every day. Although I'm grateful for what you make me feel this moment, eventhough I consider it foolish, it is still something I don't get to feel a lot in my afterlife." She had been talking softly, her words almost like a whisper in the gentle breeze that seemed to flow out of the huge gaps above them, entrances of the sewer system. Her gaze had been focused on the wound, her fingers gently lifting it up to inspect it further, as she caressed his skin as subtle as she could.<br/><br/>"It doesn't need to be mended, much to painful for something that is so simple to stitch. That is, if you are not afraid of needles.." She smiled brightly at his face, looking up from the hand she was stroking between her fingers, as her golden glowing eyes met his.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>