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[ It has been difficult.

Being taken from her self-given penance to the prison had done little to ensure comfort for Lauralae, and she had hoped that the strange medicines this place offers her would last long enough to give her some peace. It had not been so, of course, and perhaps it had been foolish of her to think it might; the people here have been kind to her, but the house itself? There is crueller magic there.

She does not dare permit herself to be near anyone, even Luci, who might welcome the burn of pain her touch offers. With no medication and no covering for her lithe little fingers, the pain she offers is reflected in kind, pinpricks of pain directly to her own mind. Even the barest brush of her fingers over skin is enough to have her close to weeping, so unused to the agony of it after so many years of hurt isolation.

It’s that thought that clings to her as she hears the shift of moment, not expecting anyone to come for her. For all that she has the sweetest of bonds here, Lauralae does not trust in it nor herself enough to dare call it friendship. The others may have guest and visitor both; having her own shocks her to her sore and tender heart.

When she realises who has come to her, what her gift is, her eyes widen into bright sparks of fizzling joy, warring with her grief. She’s careful as she reaches for them, refusing to even come close to the possibility of her touch grazing Armand’s skin and causing him pain. Her own means nothing in the wake of such simple and sweet kindness.

Voice hoarse, from crying and disuse together, she speaks, tugging the gloves on and sinking into relief. ]

Thank you. [ It’s the most comfortable she has looked since she was thrown in here, despite the warmth of Alia and Lucifer to soothe her. ] I will repay your kindness.

You owe nothing.

[ Armand keeps his voice soft, though there's little need -- most of the others in the cell with Lauralae neither desire nor need sleep. But he wants to keep this small moment as private as he can, even if he's sure Lucifer and Louis at least will be listening in. The attempt is made, at least.

He watches her closely, hearing the difference in her heart rate, the release of tension of her body as she relaxes, the pain lessening. He's glad to be able to offer that much comfort, as paltry as it feels in comparison to the cruelty of the game.

His gaze cuts sideways as he glances over at Louis, then back to Lauralae, pupils reflecting some of the dim light from the television screen and pinball machines. ]

Lauralae. I would offer you a little of my blood. It may keep the worst at bay.

[ To owe nothing discomforts her, leaves her feeling like her teeth are chomping on broken glass, unsure and alien to her. When she had offered him her blood, she had been given tenderness and pleasure in return. An equal and fair trade in the mind of a creature borne of pact and bargain rather than soft acts of kindness.

Her eyes try to follow his, dark darting dots flickering over the room, to the others. She knows he knows Luci, had spoken of him when they sat together in pleasure, and she recognises Louis from their own joint ventures. Connections begin to forge in her mind, a little wolf pack that curls in her gut with warmth.

Lauralae had only ever felt like she had belonged once before, and it had been stolen. To have it again is relief as much as it is torment.

Slowly, her breathing coming a little quicker, she swallows. ]

Why - why would I have need of it?

[ As if it is not tormenting her. ]

I can sense your pain. The magic in your mind.

[ Through the paper-thin connection, like a gossamer ribbon, since he tasted her blood. But he would have been able to feel it without that link, well aware of what a body does when it's hurting, what it tastes and sounds like. ]

If you taste my blood, it may give you a little strength, to help you withstand the hurt. It has healing properties. But it may also give you disturbing dreams. A longing for more. And we would be connected, you and I.

I have had strange dreams before now. I required potion and herbs to sleep well.

[ Nightmares, even before her time as a wolf in this game, some monster to be pitied and hated at once. Lauralae takes no issue with offering blood, would not shame a vampire for seeking it for himself, but she has spent so long wishing herself less monstrous.

She does not know how to muster the strength to consider that she may be one, beyond this dark trick.

Slowly, she nods her head, eyes damp, bleak. ]

I would try it. Yours for mine, when you feel the ache of hunger.

[ In her sorrow, she seems very young, very small. Armand's jaw tightens briefly with the desire to pull the bars of her cage down out of the stone and take her and Louis away with him, the leader and protector of their strange and fractured coven. Instead, he lifts his hand to his mouth and bites his thumb until the flesh tears and blood starts to run from it.

He extends his hand through the bars to Lauralae, dripping a little onto the floor of the cell. ]

Here, my child. Take my strength for your own, so that we might both survive this.

[ My child, he says, and it ought to sting, but somehow it does not.

Instead, Lauralae leans forward and takes what is offered to her, heedless of any eyes that might dare to twist to look upon them. She has no room in her spirit for those that might offer her harsh words and cruelties, and when she is being given a gift... It is hard not to take it, to relish it for what it is, especially from someone who claims such fondness from her.

Her mouth wraps around him, tongue curling over the gentle ooze of his blood, and the sound she makes is more inhuman than anything she has given before. It is a growl, dangerous, and she presses closer, chasing the taste of it, the warmth of it, eyes close and basking in how delicious it is to her. ]

That's it.

[ Armand sighs encouragement as Lauralae fastens to his hand like a fledgling getting her first meal, licking and sucking, a cold pain starting down his wrist and the inside of his arm as his blood is drawn away. He notes the ecstasy in her expression, which is good -- he'd been a little concerned that his dark gift might not be compatible with hers. He watches with a faint pleasure the way she shivers and swallows.

But all good things have to come to an end. Gently, he pulls his hand away. ]

Not too much. A small amount should be enough. Too much may bring on madness. [ Certainly it does in normal mortals. Hallucinations and addiction, even in the tiniest drop. He's hoping Lauralae will be able to cope with it. ]

It should heal you, if you are hurt inside. At the very least, I hope it will bolster your own gifts and give you a little power back.

[ Lauralae does not think much more madness could fit inside her small head, but she listens all the same.

Armand is a man she trusts, for what little trust means to her, and the gift he offers her confuses, frustrates, agonises her, but also fills her with a deep longing that she had not been able to put to words before now. The need for flesh, for blood, to be consumed and consume; it had been so foreign to her, suddenly brought to light in a damning display, even as she leans back to gaze at him, seeing no disgust on his features.

It would be strange indeed, for a vampire to be disgusted at a girl longing for blood.

Her hands settle, resting over her stomach, and she nods her head, eyes remaining glued to his face, eerily unblinking. ]

You have my thanks, Armand.

[ Her voice is soft, hoarse, despite all he had given her. ]

I feel... Better. [ For what little better means. ]

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