"How is she?"

Those were the first words out of the boyishly handsome young man, to the tall, gaunt figure that stepped out of an adjacent room, closing the door behind him.

The older man wiped his brow with a handkerchief that appeared from the folds of his dark robe. He looked fatigued, as if he had been doing something strenuous for many hours. "She is alive, but very weak. She is sleeping."

The doubtful look on the young man's face faded, and he smiled brightly. "Excellent," he said, sounding well-pleased, and reached into his pocket to offer a small pouch.

The pouch disappeared, with the handkerchief, back into the robe, as it's owner was already moving towards the door.

"She'll be very weak for a few days, at least," he advised, over his shoulder.

The lad smiled slightly, watching him go. "Aye," he agreed. "I've been through this before."

The older man paused at that, standing at the threshold of the open door. He glanced back and opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it, with a shrug. He stepped out into the night, the door swinging closed behind him.

As soon as he was gone, the young man crosed the room to the other door, the one he had been waiting on for several long hours, and opened it, stepping inside.

It was small, but nicely furnished, and dark, the heavy curtains hanging down over the window. A large bed dominated most of the room, and next to it, on a small table, a single candle flickered to provide some light.

He closed the door softly behind him, and approached it silently.

She lay with her eyes closed, looking lost in the big bed, among the covers. Her dark hair fanned out over the pillow, long and silky. There was a slight flush on her cheeks.

He touched the back of his fingers to the curve of her cheek, lightly, and very slowly, her eyes opened, unfocused and dreamy. They were dark green eyes, the color of fine emeralds, framed in thick lashes.

"Mourn..." she murmured, barely a whisper, eyes sliding closed again.

Faust touched the tip of one long, thin pale finger to the very center of her rosy lips, feeling the warm, feathery breeze of her breath. "Mourn is gone, Lynn," he whispered, knowing she was half-asleep again. "But I am here."