She did not look at him, but he could still see the confusion in her eyes, see them darken with thought and pain. He could practically feel her slipping between his fingers. All of the work he had poured into her, the hours he slaved away as though a sculptor forming a piece in his own image, only to have it tumble and turn to chips and clouds of dust. He gripped tighter onto her, sitting up suddenly and rolling her over so that she was laying down and he was over her, his hands splayed on the mattress on either side of her. She gasped as he did so, startled by the action before looking up to him.