At first, she is still. But the weight of her gaze is still on him, even through the veil. One could imagine red eyes seeing through fabric, connecting to his own and holding him there. Through the layers, his heartbeat cannot be felt, but one can imagine it, pulsing away, without fail, without end. Muscle, sinew, blood.

When Fever speaks, her voice is soft, but clear. Right to him, the full weight of her attention.

"We cannot atone for our sins with more death, Pyotr. One must live, and remember."

How strange, to say these words to another. How piercing. But it is a strange night, and her body is wrapped in black, and she chases the impulse further. The promise she swore, to not answer all of this with death, with execution or disappearance or anything like it.