André was still staring at Vivienne, his gaze sharp, puzzled, and a little desperate. He wasn't used to this. Not being able to read her. Usually, her thoughts were written all over her face, but now… nothing. She sat there, smiling faintly, but her eyes were unreadable, flat, almost empty. He frowned. What the fuck did I do? Did I break her? No, she's still here. Still breathing. Still… something. But he could not place it. He felt the odd pull of worry, a rare moment where his insane obsession collided with… fear? Not exactly fear. But concern. He wanted to ask if she was okay, if she was hurt, if… but his mouth wouldn't move. And then, like fate mocking him, there was a knock.
"Your grace, your bath has been prepared," the servant said, voice tight and nervous.
