It was around lunchtime that her eyelashes began to flicker, and her eyelids began to vibrate as the eyeballs beneath rolled like marbles.
I was leaning on the windowsill at the time, staring at her, thinking of Vere. Vere...she was all I could think about. The glint of the blade, the flash of blue, the pooling of paint, the dead figure on the boards. It came back again and again, and this time interlinked was the darkness of the lampless street past midnight, the shattering of clay, the slicing of flesh, and again that blue swish. That colour did haunt my soul.
And then her eyelids raised, and soft dark wells peered out. I held my breath. What would she say?
"Den?" she breathed. "Are you there?"
I made a motion with my elbow, and her eyes flicked to focus on me. Her pupils were large with pain, but I thought I saw them soften as they took in my looming figure.
"Thank you, Den," she said simply, and her eyes closed once more, and she fell asleep.
I stood and watched for long whiles, until the sunset came and darkness descended over the gloomy village of Douitchurch. I watched the shadows pass around her pale face, and I watched the white bandage grow old and rusty. I changed it after dusk, and resumed my vigil, standing over her and watching, waiting.