For the Hopeless

Chapter 3: Questions

Aven shifted uncomfortably beneath Dameon's intense gaze. She had her eyes on the floor, but she could feel him studying her, taking in the sight of her damp blonde hair, her busty, slender figure, and the clothes he'd allowed her to take from Bailey's room. The black T-shirt was tight-fitting, perfectly showing off the sexiest curves of her body. It looked so strange on her after having seen Bailey wearing it a week ago, hanging from bony shoulders to drape about an emaciated frame. Aven tugged the thin fabric down a bit, attempting to make it meet the waistband of her borrowed jeans, but the moment she released it, it sprang back to its original position an inch above. The skin peeking out in the small gap between tight fabric and low-rise denim was fair, but darker than the body the clothes usually covered. The change was enough to immediately draw Dameon's eyes, just as Bailey's ghostly white skin would have.

"Are they bad?" the elfin woman asked after a few silent seconds. She shifted again, a bare foot silent as it brushed the black carpeting of the floor, and her golden-brown, green-flecked eyes cautiously rose from them. Dameon's gaze darted to her face, amusement clear in his hazel irises.

"No," he answered, a laughter in his tone that matched his eyes. "They just look so...different on you."

Aven laughed lightly, the sound soft and melodic. The slight nervousness it held only made it more endearing. "She is much smaller, isn't she?" she remarked, now fully turning her face from the floor. Her delicate elfin features shifted into a smile that made the clothes look even stranger. They were too dreary for such a bright countenance, much more fitting for a grim visage such as Bailey's. "And very pale." Dameon nodded, the humor slowly bleeding from his physiognomy, and Aven frowned in return. "If you don't mind my asking," she began cautiously, already able to tell that this was a topic that could easily upset the man, "what's wrong with her? Is she...sick?"

At that, Dameon let out a long, tired sigh. He allowed himself to sink back into the cushions of the dark blue couch, the softness of them almost painful to his overly tense body. He felt himself aging even as he thought of Bailey, who had suffered so much and was destined only to suffer some more. "No, not sick. She's...she's..." He trailed off, his mind searching for the proper way to phrase the woman's malady. His eyes found his laptop suddenly, shut and silent on the coffee table, and he vaguely wished to be free of this conversation, perhaps doing something more productive and less...Bailey-centric. "I can't really tell you what she is," he said at last, his gaze wandering back to the elf, whose eyes followed his movements with intense curiosity. She frowned.

"Why not?" she questioned, her head tilting gently to the left. It was a light movement, a very slight incline, but it was still just enough to swing a water-darkened strand of hair away from her left ear. The scarred tip was revealed, a sharp contrast to the natural elfin beauty of her face, and Dameon didn't have as much trouble as he'd expected keeping his gaze from it.

"It would require a long explanation, one I'm not allowed to tell." His eyes drifted once again to his laptop, and his longing to be done with this conversation redoubled. "I'm the only one who knows. Even Tawny doesn't, and she's able to read minds."

The elf's frown deepened, her eyes filling with confusion and a frustration that she might never know the answer to her question. She wasn't nosy, Dameon decided, simply afflicted with an implacable curiosity. "Can you at least tell me whether it has to do with..." She hesitated, glancing around the room as if she expected to find Bailey herself concealed in one corner, dangerous and plotting when to lash out in an insulted fury. Upon finding no one, Aven drew closer to Dameon, cautiously lowering herself onto the empty cushion to his left. "With the evil that she seems to harbor?" Her gaze was even more intense now. She was dying to know, and possibly a little bit afraid of the outcome.