She bowed her head as she placed her hands across his chest wounds, feeling the depth of them before a soft white light seemed to pour from her fingers, winding like threads acorss his wounds before pulling tight as if sewing the wound together.
A warmth shot up Dorian's spine suddenly before she looked at him again.

"Just Aiana will do....in the circumstances, full greetings may have to wait.."

She pushed back her long hair before trailing her hands up toward his neck, running her fingers over the bleeding wound.

She went quiet for a moment before looking up,
"When were you bitten?"

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination" - Oscar Wilde

As the warm feeling shot through his body, his scarlet lips opened for a moment but then closed in a thin line, as though he was afraid of crying out.
“When was I bitten? A few hours ago…” his dark eyes, still slightly crimson, looked curious. “Why?”

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

Dark watched the healer, small flames rippled along her fingers as she waited. This healer was, different from the rest, not just her age but her aura.

(ha love that word*mumbles*aura aura aura)

She looked up at him, "Because it makes it easier for me to heal it, if I know when."
She smiled gently.
"This is not your siring bite...that was earlier. Although, this has been done in the same wounds."

She put a finger upon the bitemarks before closing her eyes.
Energy was transferring between them; Dorian could feel it. Whatever she was doing to take away the pain was causing her some...although she didn't make a sound.
The same white light seemed to be penetrating deeply across Dorian's wounds, the bleeding seeming to evaporate, disappear and withdraw as the marks closed up, becoming dark scars on his pale skin.

It was only afterward that she opened vibrant eyes, unclenching her hands and removing her finger from his neck...
Her own marks were hurting now...déja vu.

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination" - Oscar Wilde

He looked at her in slight amazement; his long slender fingers touched the scar on his neck. His eyes grew wide and he tilted his head slightly.
“You are in pain?” his face looked concerned “was it something in my wounds?” he pushed aside her hair and peered at the scar on her own neck.
“What happened? You look shocked…”

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

She sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do here. She slowly walked outside, enjoying the fresh night air.

Leyla watched silently. still remaining in the shadows of the room. Her head was still cocked to the side, watching with interest. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

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The Ever So Confused One

Sig ll Moi

Her smile was soft to him, "Ah no...it just reminded me of something." she told him as he pushed back her hair and she tipped her head to one side.
"He did not sire me, I am not a vampire as you are.." she told Dorian, looking down at him.

"Although...he almost killed me with his bloodlust..."

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination" - Oscar Wilde

“Who?” his voice came out a broken whisper “Who almost killed you?” his naïve eyes were confused and wide. His fingertips moved lightly along his scars.

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

Her smile was gentle, as she looked at Dorian's temples, for any other wounds, smiling softly to him as she worked.

"My love..." she replied quietly to him before pushing her hair behind her ears, tipping his head up to look into his eyes for the streaks of crimson.
"He had never had a master, or any training to control it...his powers were out of his control once he was overcome with the lust for blood."

Her head bowed, as she cleaned the blood from the closing wound.

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination" - Oscar Wilde

“I see…” he laughed softly “rather like myself… No master… Uncontrollable
bloodlust…” He flinched as she looked into his eyes “what’s wrong with my eyes?”

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

"Nothing, thankfully." she replied to him, before removing her fingers from his chin and letting his head lay back upon the pillow.

"You have no master? Although you have been bitten by two different vampires..." she spoke gently to him.
"One must be with you, for you to have sustained such wounds."

Her head bowed again, "Forgive me for intruding..."

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination" - Oscar Wilde

He smiled slightly “It’s alright. Yes, I was bitten by a vampire one night… Although I do not know who it was…” his eyes flickered softly “Now… The man I see as my master, Kael, he… Keeps me alive, so to speak.” A shadow passed across his face “I cannot escape him… I am not sure I even want to…”

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

At mention of the name, her bright eyes grew wide, and she paused him.
"Kael?" she repeated softly, running the familiar name over her lips.
"Kaelakuna?" she whispered.
Surely not, surely not that quiet boy, the one who would sit at the back and pray not to be noticed...

She bowed her head, "Perhaps...it was better for me not to ask it of you.."

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination" - Oscar Wilde

“Yes… Kael.” His eyes grew curious “You know of him?”
he watched her, his fingers gently moving over the scars on his neck.

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

She nodded gently, smiling weakly. She was still in a slight shock...although it explained a lot...
Kaelakuna, the beautiful quiet boy she often watched...always knew he had something odd about him.

Her fingers were gentle across his skin, that beautiful face leaning close to him as she looked over the scars, her elegant fingers running over the harsh markings.

(( I might be retiring for the night. ^^; ))

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"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination" - Oscar Wilde