She was not dressed. The pale fabric that settled on her form may as well been water, for all the concealment it gave her. He was a student of beauty, always, and hers was striking. He never had been immune, and this morning was no exception.
Still, he would have kept his place at the mouth of the library if it weren't for the question she tossed down the corridor.
Are you all right?
Despite her having shown him in other ways, it still brought him up short when she showed concern for him. He opened his mouth to let out the quick "Always" on his tongue, to alleviate her concern and assure her... but it tasted ashy, that word, and he pressed his lips together again. And then took one small step toward her.
She would need some form of answer. He frowned at the length of carpet between them, which seemed to grow shorter without his consent.
"I am not myself," he said, opting for something easier than the bare truth. "I apologize if my absence has caused you..." What? "Discomfort."
He was very close to her now. Closer than he should rightly be, especially given the manner of her dress. His traitor gaze slid from the carpet and followed the line of her thigh, the curve of her waist, the elegant arm, that pale throat... and finally rested on the face he'd seen in his mind too often to count.
"The morning is very early, Magdelene," he said. "Are you well?"