[ Devastatingly, this is the chance he never had. He can see his child. He can hold her. He should want to, even knowing she's not alive. He should want to, because he's wanted to know her face all these long years, but he's frozen for a moment. If he looks at her, if he sees her pale face, her closed eyes, then he won't get to keep that perfect memory of her from his dreams: the one where she's running to him as fast as her little legs can carry her, red curls blown wild by the wind. If he feels her cold skin, if he begs her eyes to open and they won't, he'll truly lose her forever.
A glance at Claire, too, at the sight of her paler features, has him so worried. ]
no subject
A glance at Claire, too, at the sight of her paler features, has him so worried. ]
I canna, Claire.