[Julia - or the approximation of Julia that may be patched together from the frayed and snapping bits of Sieghart's memories - simply lowers her head as she listens to him speak, as if resigned to accepting what he says regardless of what it is. It's difficult to tell from her face what she's thinking, even when she looks back up.
And soon after she does, she rises to stand and crosses the distance between them. Reaching out, she touches the side of his face in a gesture that might be gentle, though it will hardly feel like anything at all to him. The touch of spider's silk, cold and lifeless.]
...Then let me do this last thing for you.
[Her fingers brush against his temple in a soft and tender gesture before she takes a step back. She looks at Sieghart like something she will miss, but something she has resigned herself to lose once more. To her, it's a familiar ache.]
I wish you well, Sieg, and I will love you always. Our paths will not cross again.
[As her wavering figure begins to dissipate, he'll hear the door click open behind him. The candle of the oil lantern flickers and goes out - and with it, he'll start to feel something else slipping away. Those last vestiges of things that he could remember about her will begin to fade, starting with the little things that he barely holds onto and moving on to bigger and more established things, like their marriage, their first meeting, the fact that he knew her at all. Eventually, only the name "Julia" is left - and that, too, escapes him, leaving him only with the sense that he's lost something precious.]
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And soon after she does, she rises to stand and crosses the distance between them. Reaching out, she touches the side of his face in a gesture that might be gentle, though it will hardly feel like anything at all to him. The touch of spider's silk, cold and lifeless.]
...Then let me do this last thing for you.
[Her fingers brush against his temple in a soft and tender gesture before she takes a step back. She looks at Sieghart like something she will miss, but something she has resigned herself to lose once more. To her, it's a familiar ache.]
I wish you well, Sieg, and I will love you always. Our paths will not cross again.
[As her wavering figure begins to dissipate, he'll hear the door click open behind him. The candle of the oil lantern flickers and goes out - and with it, he'll start to feel something else slipping away. Those last vestiges of things that he could remember about her will begin to fade, starting with the little things that he barely holds onto and moving on to bigger and more established things, like their marriage, their first meeting, the fact that he knew her at all. Eventually, only the name "Julia" is left - and that, too, escapes him, leaving him only with the sense that he's lost something precious.]