A Heart so Cold

archebold Fear is the price of imagination "Most certainly. You woke in comfort, cared for. Had I really desired to harm you or worse you'd wake in the cellar, strung up like some cured buy product of meat. A bag of life waiting to be drained at my very whim...but you didn't." Archebold responded to Isla 's question of safety, hands smoothing over the silken sheet than had covered her. As she continued to describe her feelings when Archebold had begun feeding on her, his head titled to the side curiously as he took in her observation. "The point is survival. Do the animals or the vegetation question motivation when consumed? Do you question before taking a savory bite of meat or a cookie? No. Instinct tells you what needs to be done in order to survive. There is no deeper meaning. Simply...survival. Though, like any fruit...when you find that perfectly ripened source you learn to savor every morsel." Clearly he was speaking of the healer, but it was an easy comparison to make. Archebold would motion for Isla to lay back, if she did so he would stand and tuck the sheet comfortably around her. "Rest...should you need anything I'll be in my quarters. Up the stairs, second on the left. No doubt you have more questions, and I promise to answer as much of them as I can but for now you need your strength. Come morning, you'll feel right as rain." His hands resting against the lionshead knob of his walking stick, Archebold bowed. "Bonum nocte, angelas iunae luman." An educated woman as Isla would might know the language in which Archebold spoke, an ancient language of romantic origin. If not, well perhaps he would translate for her one day. Dark eyes lingered on the healer as he offered a fanged smile before turning on his heel to take his leave.