Tom pulls away with ragged, panting breaths. He looks down at her, holds her face tenderly. She remembers when she had healed him in the hotel room. When she had brushed her fingers softly against his skin. She looks into his dark eyes and shivers at what she finds. His gaze is filled with adoration, or a perversion of it—a monstrous sort of adoration. A reverent, starved devotion.  