The gasp as fangs broke skin came with mixed feelings. Wonder, pain, pleasure, longing, and renewal. The crone doubted she'd ever become completely used to the idea of being feed from, not that she would complain. There were simply moments she was struck by the idea that she was giving life to another creature; it was strange concept for one that was created old and alone, always to be the guide in the story.
Her eyes closed, and she let herself drift into the space between. They didn't not have a telepathic bond, but it could easily revival one at times. Her fingers caught in his hair, pressing his head closer to her body. She did not try to hide anything from him, doubting she could once he fed on her blood.
He'd see that she'd been lost without him, not being able to touch him. She might have wished to be free of the pain, and then he'd also feel the strange freedom of no anger. He'd know that she had, for a brief moment, returned to what she was before she'd turned completely dark, as some might say. Before she'd grown angry with her lot in life, before the Adversary took an interest in her, before all of it. That had never completely gone away; she fought the tradition so very ingrained in her being. He'd see that the brief or not so brief return to that time before now left her angry and sad. With a hint of confusion. He'd know that she had every intention at finding the truth of what had happened and why the City had chosen those few. She had a God to talk to.
She breathed softly as she felt that warning faintness. Her hand pulled as his hair, just a small tug. There wasn't any reason for panic, so she didn't.