It felt strange to look upon the painting again. A different her had painted it; a different world had spurred it. In a room dark and alone Dahlia had lost herself to the brush strokes and that had been her everything. There was nothing beyond the touch of paint to the canvas. There was nothing to fear. Or to worry about. There was no anger. No hate. No hunger. It reminded her of something lost. A life torn away to be replaced with something else.
Sadness briefly clouded her vision as her fingers danced upon the brushstrokes.
She hadn't realized how alone she had been.
Wasn't she still?
Realization weaved its way through her thoughts. It tugged and it pulled and she wasn't entirely sure how she was supposed to feel. Did it mean she wasn't so alone now? Did it...mean anything at all?
Fangs pierced her lip as she worried upon it; her gaze drifting to Janos and back to the painting. Two worlds. "I knew I wasn't going to." Dahlia spoke; her eyes briefly fluttered as his fingers touched her face. She wasn't sure if that feel was something she enjoyed or something she hated....but it was unique. She remembered it now.
She didn't know if she wanted to remember more...
"My sister was clearer to see. I was going to die." she had known it the moment her screams had died away. The moment the pain dulled into a haze she scarcely felt anymore. She had known she wouldn't survive it. She hadn't fought that nearing death. She had given in.
But then Janos came. He took that death away.
His question made Dahlia pause; resisting the urge to shudder as he spoke in her thoughts again. How did it make her feel? She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She didn't know how to answer. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. Were most happy? Did they feel better knowing? Was she supposed to ask why?
"I don't know." she finally answered honestly; her blue gaze finally returning to his.