[This is perhaps the hardest thing Claude has ever done. For someone who once described himself as the embodiment of distrust, to put his life in someone else's hands -- literally -- is excruciating. Or perhaps that's just instinctive revulsion to the Blight, and the coldness of Hayame's skin, but he doesn't betray his discomfort except for the way his hands tighten slightly into fists.
He then watches as she extracts her shard, bound and hidden away like so much of herself. He's concerned by its cracked appearance, but he doesn't comment. His own shard, despite its moonlike shape, has warmth more akin to the sun, already a slight balm to the frostbite eating away at her.]
Okay... Now for the next step. One sec. [He gets up to return to his room. Even the slight, brief distance from his Shard is painful on its own, and his jaw is set tight and voice subtly strained when he returns carrying a sheathed hunting knife.]
One drop of blood each, right? Shall I do the honours?
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He then watches as she extracts her shard, bound and hidden away like so much of herself. He's concerned by its cracked appearance, but he doesn't comment. His own shard, despite its moonlike shape, has warmth more akin to the sun, already a slight balm to the frostbite eating away at her.]
Okay... Now for the next step. One sec. [He gets up to return to his room. Even the slight, brief distance from his Shard is painful on its own, and his jaw is set tight and voice subtly strained when he returns carrying a sheathed hunting knife.]
One drop of blood each, right? Shall I do the honours?