Surprisingly, Baldur managed to wrap the new bandages around your knees in a soft, tender manner. He cleaned the bloody knees, rubbed some medicine onto the cracks and wrapped everything up in a neat, careful way.

Judging by the tension in his hands, he tried his very best to be as gentle as possible, without causing any more harm.

You watched him with a smile. The way he restrained himself made you feel all warm inside.

Without thinking, you reached out and let your fingers stroke through the long waves of his hair. It was a bit frizzy, but felt soft and clean, so very different from what you had expected.

Lost in thought, you twisted some strands, played with them and braided small sections.

Your heart skipped a beat as he glanced up and your eyes locked.

"What are you doing?", he asked and wiped some blood on his pant leg.

You blushed, ashamed.

Immediately, you let go of his hair.

But his hand caught yours mid-way and held it back.

"It's fine.", he said and looked at your fingers. "You can touch me. It doesn't bother me anyways."

Your fingers twitched in his grip. It felt cold, like the kiss of winter. But it also had some kind of beauty, gentleness, buried underneath numbness.

He reacted to your reaction, locked eyes with you again and waited for another reaction.

"I don't want to be rude...", you mumbled and wanted to pull your hand back.

But he refused to let go.

"The only rude thing you do is covering me with those touches, despite knowing I can't feel any of this.", his eyes wandered back to your hand, following the movements of every single finger of yours. "But I like to imagine how it would be if my body could feel you. It... excites me. I want to feel it. One day."

Listening to his words made your cheeks glow.

He was so blunt about it, so straight forward. He wasn't ashamed about this wish of his, as strange and unfamiliar it sounded.

A soft breath escaped his bearded lips as he noticed a dark spot on your wrist, that was caused by the contact of his own touch. A hint of disappointment lit up inside his eyes.

He had been so gentle, forced his own carelessness to be careful and yet there was still harm he could cause you.

"Does it hurt?", he asked, his gaze glued to the mark of his finger on your skin.

Swallowing hard, you shook your head. Your lips were unable to form words. All you could focus on was this soft man kneeling in front of you while trying to restrain the curse that tortured him so you didn't have to suffer.

The sight made you feel accepted, appreciate even.

Why did you never feel this way before?

As his eyes wandered up again, locking with yours, you flinched in surprise.

His eyebrows moved.

Without breaking eye contact, he slightly tilted his head, pulled your wirst closer to his face and opened his fingers to place a soft, almost loving kiss onto your skin.

A shiver crawled down your spine, hot and yet cold.

His lips parted a little and the tip of his tongue appeared to get a taste.

"I wish I could tell what you taste like.", he sighed.

It made him look so fragile, so weak. It was so strange to see him this way.

The air got sucked out of your lungs. You held your breath.

His lips barely touched your skin. But the hair of his thick full beard lightly scratched you.

It wasn't harsh enough to make your skin break and bleed, but it did leave marks.

His eyes softened.

"I envy you, little butterfly.", he whispered, lips still pressed against your wrist. "I wish I could feel your hands the way you feel my lips."

His grip loosened. He let go.

But you were frozen in surprise. Your eyes just stared at him while your thoughts were racing.

Your lips moved but all that left was a soft breath.

"You shouldn't...", you finally said in a silent voice and pulled your hand back. "It's just misery."

He huffed amused and turned his attention back to the bandages to wrap the last part of your injured knees.

"Your misery, my misery. Nothing but misery for us.", he chuckled, but it was filled with bitterness and disgust.

His fingers tensed. He had to fight back a wave of anger.

Or was it frustration?

Probably both.

"There is still hope for you.", you said and grabbed a strand of his hair again, to braid it. "The guardian is still alive. I saw him leave."

"He can't help. I tried."

"But... maybe the boy can."

All of a sudden, he froze. His posture tensed and it seemed as if his eyes were about to light up in flames.

"The boy?", Baldur asked and looked up, frowning. "There is a boy?"

His voice was trembling. A mix of excitement, rage and confusion made his words sound weak.

He was shaking all over.

His gaze was fixed onto you, but his eyes looked right through flesh and bones, into nothing.

Carefully, you slid a hand under his bearded chin and gently forced him to look at you.

The lively spark returned to his eyes.

"Before I found you, I saw the tattooed man leave his house.", you said, slow and clear, so that the words were able to cut through the veil that kept his mind wrapped in that moment. "They were talking, but I couldn't hear everything. Something about a mother. The boys mother."

A soft yet long breath escaped him. His grip around the bandages tightened, so hard, that the soft cotton cut into your flesh.

Gasping in pain, you grabbed his arm.

But he didn't let go.

His body tensed so hard that the muscles in his shoulders started pressing against the tattooed skin of his. It seemed as if threads of steel tried to break through.

"A boy...", he chuckled, while a strange shadow grew inside the blue of his eyes. "A boy and his mother!"

He laughed.

It was a strange laugh, empty yet filled with insanity.

Hearing it made your blood freeze.