Seamus knitted his brows, realizing something wasn't right, but he smiled anyway, pretending nothing had happened.
Nothing good would come from making a scene; it was better to keep quiet, to hide what he knew until he understood what was really going on.
Viviane in front of him wasn't Viviane.
He knew it. He couldn't explain how, but everything about the figure before him screamed her name, her movements, her voice, her scent, yet she felt hollow, like someone perfectly imitating life without the warmth that made it real.
'If only I could remember what I did last time. I know it was important, but I can't figure out what it was.'
It sat just out of reach, like a word caught at the back of his tongue, close enough to feel but impossible to catch.
For now, he decided to play along. If this figure's power could be reached through touch, through pleasure, then maybe he could draw out what was hidden and remember what had happened.
"You make me scared, Viviane."
