"Helena," he said, with a slight nod. If that's what she wanted - and was now, then he'd respect that. The name brought to mind Greeks and the Iliad one of the books he'd read in prison. A faint smile tugged at his lips, until she sent the question back at him. It faded as his eyes fell from her and to his hands, callused and pale. He reached back to his hair, the strands just long enough to be pulled forward and be seen. It was lighter than it normally was these days and he could make a guess his eyes were blue.
He looked up to her again, making the eye-contact. "I'm Edward," he said, voice wavering slightly. "But people don't call me that anymore." There was a long pause, before he added, hesitantly. "You can call me that. I miss it sometimes."
The images behind and beside her confused him, though the sandwich made him laugh. Aha. He knew that quite well. "The island," he said, bending down to take a fistful of sand and rocks. It sifted through his fist and to the ground, a smile crossing his face as he did so. "The real one, I think."
Her question made him pause. Well, that should have been obvious. Memories shifted in his mind - a book in his hands, notes scattered across the floor, being on the computer and reading of stories. He looked up at her with a faint grimace. "I was supposed to be him - the Count. I was sure of it."