Her mind may not have recognized him by sight, but the voice... Well, that was something different entirely. Beauty fell still, then carefully turned. Suspicion and badly-smothered hope stamped her features. It couldn't be him. Impossible, don't be foolish. It couldn't be him. But the truth of the matter left her gaping. Tonight, when she finally lay again in her own bed, she would remember the words in the note that Thomas... no, The City... left for her. Tonight, she'd whisper secret words about his choice of gifts into . But now, all she could do was stare.
It'd been nearly four years since The City first chose her -- nearly four since she'd first met Errol. She'd the coltishness of her 17-year-old self. Some places were more filled out. Some places were more defined. Her face remained fresh, and she certainly retained no small amount of sweetness about her -- but that nearly painful wash of innocence had been tempered by 4 years of experience. It made a visible difference in the way she held herself. In her still-telling expressions. She'd changed, in subtle ways.
Beauty was also taking him in. He looked exactly like she remembered. Exactly like... As if he'd just walked in from years before. Into the silence she laughed, surprised and earnest, laughed like someone'd said I love you. It broke her spell of incredulity. In wretched moments, she'd fantasized about all the things she'd do in this moment -- and now none of them fit. She didn't throw her arms around him. She didn't smile at him and immediately offer to tell him all the happenings since he'd been gone. Sparrows didn't stream ribbons behind him and he didn't sweep her into his arms and... None of it happened the way she had imagined. "I thought you were gone forever," she said. "I thought you'd never be back again."