Her soft touch surprised him, and it surprised him even more that he did not find it repulsive. So often, he avoided touch; most touch that had been given to him had been brutal - with only a few exceptions. It rather soured him on the whole experience. But from such beauty, from the graceful vessel of that golden voice, it did not trouble him.
When she spoke in solidarity, when she shared in his grief, he found she'd touched him far deeper than that stroke of fingers across his black-gloved hand. His head bowed slightly, perhaps thanks, or perhaps an attempt to hide the expression that crossed his face.
"Thank you, Magdelene," he said, very quietly, the tone of his voice softer than the gin-laden syllables he'd uttered from the moment she'd appeared to him. It was not often that he thanked anyone.