In Which Lucien Finds Someone Worth Seeing

February 15, 1178

"You don't think... maybe Vera gave just enough to...?"

The moving lips were a stranger's, but the voice was Laveria's. Was he dreaming? She wasn't as she usually was. When Lucien tried to picture Laveria, he thought of someone a little older--more gray in the hair, probably up in a knot, with a stern scowl and a sterner neckline. She might have shown up once or twice in his dreams, but she'd always matched that approximation; not once had she been loose-haired and bare-shouldered.

Contemplative, Dream-Laveria turned away as Dream-Lucien's trembling legs slipped off the side of the bed. Trembling? He didn't tremble in his dreams. His head throbbed and his eyes seared. Most dreams were not so vivid. The shapes and colors he normally welcomed in the night were more than he could handle, an assault to the nerves against which he could not defend himself. All he could do was blink and it did next to nothing.

He tried to stand but fell to his knees as his shaking legs gave out beneath him. When looking down, all he could see was the grain of the dull floorboards and even that was too much for him. Maybe he wasn't dreaming at all. "Am I dead?"

"No," came a woman's voice from behind him, a little softer than Laveria's. He recognized it as Lady Leonora's. "No, you're not dead."

A foreign wetness on his lashes, Lucien tried to guide his wavery hand to the edge of the mattress but could only succeed when he closed his eyes. He pried himself off the floor in a comforting darkness and followed the edge around to the footboard, but the building moisture needed a release and he blinked on reflex. The attack of the colors returned stronger than ever. "I'm scared."

"Lucien..."

Vera's stepmother was a curvy brunette in a form-hugging ensemble of velvet and silk. Her overdress was lined with a pattern of curlicues that must have been designed with the sole purpose of tormenting him; he raised his hands and tried to focus on them instead, but they were just as unfamiliar. "I can't--"

He couldn't even finish the thought. He couldn't even recognize his own hands unless he shut his eyes and pressed them to his face.

"You'd think he'd be happy about this," grumbled Laveria from behind him.

"Laveria, it's an adjustment. He's not used to this." A silky underdress swept against the floorboards and a velvet clad arm laced around his shoulders while its opposite hand brushed the tears aside. "Lucien? Is there anything we can do?"

He shook his head. They meant well, but they didn't understand. Nor was there a way to help anyway.

"What if we got something translucent? A sheer silk scarf or something. What if we covered your eyes with that for a while, then switched to something more transparent once you got used to it?"

He choked in protest as the door creaked open and he feared his ears might explode. Even his familiar senses had betrayed him. "Honey--"

"You're awake!"

Lucien froze. That voice was the one sound he could stand to hear. "Vera?"

Lady Leonora stepped back as another feminine form embraced him, a soft cheek rubbing against his own and before her chin rested on his shoulder. "I was so worried about you!" She raised her head and kissed him squarely on the lips--never mind the presence of her stepmother and grandmother. "I missed you. You were asleep for so long..."

He'd missed her too, even if he didn't know how long they'd been apart. Too long, in any case. "Vera..."

Did he dare look at her?

Yes. He had to know. Bracing himself, Lucien pried his eyes open and forced himself to look, only to find he didn't need forcing at all. Of all the things that had come flying at him in the past couple minutes, her face was the only one not charging forth with a dagger. She wore a smile instead, one that spread past her rose petal lips to her straight nose and her silky black hair and her pretty, long-lashed sapphire eyes. How many times had he tried to perfect the picture of her in his mind? Not once had he guessed anything near her beauty. "Vera..."

"You can see me." He nodded. A soft hand he knew better than his own pushed a lock of dull hair out of his fresh, aching eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Uh..." It was tough to find the right word when she was looking at him like that. "Kind of overwhelmed." Her smiled faded somewhat. It was the most painful sight of the day. "Looking at you helps, though."

He didn't think he'd ever done anything so fulfilling as spurring that smile back to its full glory. "It's all right. You'll get used it--I promise. Let me help you?"

Her hand fell to his side and found his own. He squeezed it harder than he'd intended, but she never said a word.

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