A Heart so Cold

No? Isla arched an eyebrow in obvious disbelief, the healer setting down the wine (better to take that slow) and taking another bite of the pastry instead. The sugar helped, as he had said it would and as she had known it would, and she felt a little more focused as she settled back against the couch, sinking into the pillow and running an absent finger over the sheet that still covered her legs. "Is that so?" she said dryly, finishing the pastry and averting her eyes as he stepped closer, crouching down before her. He dabbed at her lips with a handkerchief like she was a child, and Isla reached up to close a hand around his wrist, as if to stop him - as if she could. A moment or two passed before she released him, her blue eyes focused on him again now, seeming a mixture of puzzled and concerned before she mastered the expression. Of course he was cool to the touch, she reminded herself, and obviously he didn't have a pulse. "Given your biggest fear, Captain, can you really believe yourself when you say I am safe from you?" she asked softly, picking up the wine glass again and taking a further sip to give herself something to do. She swallowed uncertainly, feeling his eyes on the marks on her neck, and she nearly choked on the wine at his question. Why did it matter, exactly? "...Disgust, at first," she said honestly, her grip tightening on the glass. "Pain, fear, helplessness... then, I don't know. I wanted to know more... how it worked, why it was happening and what the point of it was..." How it felt. She didn't say that, though. Isla the flesh is weak