[At first, there is no response from her, her shallow breathing the only indication that she is alive at all—but then her eyelids flutter open, and for a moment, she looks at him. There is no resentment or malice in her expression for those few seconds. Her gaze is gentle, even fond, like she's only just now seen and recognized him...
And then it's over. Her eyes widen and, sucking in a sharp breath, she tries to maneuver herself away (weakly, with limbs that seem reluctant to cooperate with her). It's difficult to tell if the way she doesn't employ any of her new sharp edges is a conscious effort not to hurt him or just her current illness making her too clumsy for it. Either way, only her wings brush harmlessly against his arms, and her voice is frail when she protests:]
no subject
And then it's over. Her eyes widen and, sucking in a sharp breath, she tries to maneuver herself away (weakly, with limbs that seem reluctant to cooperate with her). It's difficult to tell if the way she doesn't employ any of her new sharp edges is a conscious effort not to hurt him or just her current illness making her too clumsy for it. Either way, only her wings brush harmlessly against his arms, and her voice is frail when she protests:]
Don't... you touch me...